Slow Night Falling
by eleventy7
Summary: Two years after the Battle and it's still leaving its mark. Ginny finds herself caught up in its spreading ripples. See inside for warnings.
1. Prologue

Background: _This is set two years after the Battle, and is compliant with everything except the epilogue of Deathly Hallows._

Warnings: _Contains mild coarse language, the occasional sexual reference, and mild implied slash and het side pairings. Specifically: Harry/Draco, Dean/Lavender, and unrequited Luna/Neville._

* * *

It was a brilliant afternoon, the kind she'd remember later on, just before she closed her eyes forever. She'd remember it just for its sheer brilliance, its everlasting blue sky - a deep pure blue that made her love the entire world just for a heartbeat.

She had moved to the highest part of the grounds, at the top of an embankment near the lake. She could see everyone from here, the tiny first years jumping around, the seventh-years getting them with Trip Jinxes just for one last laugh.

She could see Ron's flame of red hair, she could see Seamus's sandy locks. She could see Hermione's brown frizziness as she laughed at something McGonagall told her. She could see the sun dazzling off Malfoy's brilliantly blonde hair, and for a moment she could forgive him. She could forgive everyone. Who could hold a grudge, who could feel no warmth under this beautiful sky, on this perfect June afternoon, with all those bright futures milling around below them?

Yes, thought Ginny. All the wonderful things that are yet to happen to all these beautiful people. It was so hard to resent them for going on without her. But she would catch up. One more year, and she would be free too, cast out to sea to find her sails and greet the waves alone.

It was difficult, being the seventh child. Six other bright futures already set out, and now they were looking at her, and she suddenly had no idea...except that she needed to run, somehow. Ginny had always felt the need to run, to race up to catch the horizon. She wanted to run until she left all of it behind.

She leapt up suddenly and laughed, running down the hill, away towards the lake, her eyes half-closed so everything blurred together in a dizzy, wondrous mess – the blazing, pure blue sky, the fragrant grass, the shimmering lake…

She thought she could almost hear someone calling her name, their voice echoing long and lonely across the lake, drawn out and pitiful: _Ginny...._

But she had disappeared into the blue summer day.

* * *

Ginny completed her schooling on the anniversary of Fred's death, on the second of May 1999.

It was funny, the way everyone thought things should have happened. That Ginny and Harry would get a place together, that Hermione and Ron would get a quaint little cottage somewhere and instantly have five children. That Luna and Neville would marry, that Seamus and Dean would at last get together and have a great relationship. Everything in its proper place. All the cards had been played face up for anyone to see.

But Fate had a hidden ace, as Fate always does.

Harry lived with Hermione and Ron in a beautiful house. They split the bills three ways, they had three chairs at their table. There were two cars in the driveway: one was Harry's, one was Hermione's. Ron said he would rather die than set foot in either of them as he had never recovered from the Ford Anglia incident in their second year.

And Ginny – well, she lived by herself in a little flat, with a black cat called Jem. She had a little kitchenette, and on cold mornings, wrapped up in blankets, she'd make a pot of coffee by herself. She was happy.

Luna loved Neville, although it was unrequited. Neville loved Hannah Abbot, because it's a sad fact of life that somewhere, somebody has to suffer in love.

Dean dated Lavender, and they fitted perfectly. Seamus hadn't found anyone yet. That was all right, because he didn't need anyone yet. Perhaps he never would. That was the way life worked.

Ginny liked this arrangement, the separate ways in which everyone went, the paths that drew them together and apart. She liked to think of all the expectations that were never filled. All the precise lives that everybody had laid out for them, but they had turned away to laugh and cry and ruin all of the world's perfect plans with emotions and choices.

Ginny liked a lot of things.

* * *

She got up at six a.m, feeling the gritty cold beneath her feet, trying to warm her hands on the little woodstove with the bitter taste of black coffee in her mouth. She went for a run along the beach nearby. It wasn't a particularly nice beach – it was littered and had dark gray waves rather than tranquil blue waters, but bathed in the glow of sunrise it looked beautiful. Everything looked beautiful at sunrise, somehow special and different.

When she arrived back from her run, satisfyingly warm and salty with sweat, she called her parents. It had taken at least three months for Arthur and Ginny to teach Molly not to shout down the phone all the time. She recalled this with a smile, dialing the numbers.

"It's me, Ginny."

"Ginny, dear. Your father was in a terrible state this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he accidentally put on one of George's joke ties, and it took him half an hour to get it off again." Molly voice was slightly anxious, but Ginny thought she could detect a tiny note of amusement.

"Oh, dear. . ."

"I really must have a word to George about leaving things around the house." A pause. "Ginny, are you sure you're happy in that little apartment, by yourself?"

"Yes, Mum."

"All right. Well, if it ever gets lonely..."

This was a joke between them. They both knew it was only Mrs Weasley who ever suffered loneliness in her rambling house. It was so full of memories and she was alone with them. George lived above the shop now and Ron had moved out. Bill and Charlie rarely visited, and Percy was always busy. Mrs Weasley was left to walk from room to empty room, to tenderly recall the days of motherhood as she smoothed down unused covers and gently cupped cold pillows where silky heads used to lay. She looked forward to Arthur's retirement. She needs somebody in the house, Ginny thought, shaking away thoughts of her now lonely childhood home.

"All right," she said murmured down the receiver. "Thanks, Mum. I'll see you later."

"All right, dear. Give my love to the others," Molly replied. She was referring to Harry, Ron and Hermione, all of whom she considered to be her children.

This was the conversation she had nearly every day with her mother. No matter how rushed or busy Ginny was, she always called her mother at 7:30am on the dot.

She liked her life.

* * *

Ginny had had a job, for three months, working as a shop assistant at Flourish and Blotts. One day she walked outside to have her break, and never came back.

She became Ollivander's apprentice instead, which she found much nicer instead of dealing with annoyed customers and books that wouldn't shut up. Now she spent her days watching and learning as Ollivander explained the magical properties of unicorns, of dragons, and the important variations in different types of wood. She liked sitting in the small, musty shop, the smell of sawdust and magic in the air. "I'm getting old," he had told her once. "The war has taken its toll. I'll need someone to take over the business soon." He was often preoccupied or distant.

This morning, however, Ollivander was more cheerful, mentioning neither the war nor his mysterious past. She spent the day learning the art of restoring old wands, and when she finished at the shop she walked down Diagon Alley and popped into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for a brief moment, waving at George through the crowd.

"George, Dad found one your ties this morning. Mum's quite annoyed."

George just laughed and threw something at her - a Love Potion kit.

"And what do I need this for?" she asked indignantly. He shrugged and she caught sight of Ron edging out of the storeroom, balancing several boxes and trying to peer around them at the same time. Ron caught her eye and smiled.

"Hey, Ginny! Coming to the Tipsy Hippogriff tonight?"

"Not tonight, Ron."

"Oh, come on, we're one short..."

"Sorry." She was unrepentant, but Ron was not giving up so easily.

"Come on. Last quiz night before Easter!"

"Oh, all right!"

She laughed, shaking her head and battling her way back out the door. She was looking forward to dinner - it would be a mild curry of some sort, she decided, something fragrant. A quiet celebration for another lovely day.

* * *

She stirred the sauce, and months later she could remember the moment exactly. It occurred when she was bruising some coriander, enjoying the sweet aroma it left on her fingers. The wizarding wireless was on, the window was open and a warm breeze was floating in along with the noise of the city. Dusk was slowly settling in and she could see the warm glows appearing as people began turning on their lights. The thin lace curtains moved gently over her face as she gazed out at the world, leaning over the chopping board.

And then the owl ghosted out of nowhere, landing gracefully on the sill. Ginny automatically reached out and untied the letter, slightly puzzled but hopeful. News from one of her brothers? An unexpected letter from an old friend?

She opened it and read it slowly.

Beside her, the radio played on. The breeze did not pause. The aroma of coriander did not fade.

The world went on without her.


	2. Chapter 1

The rain spattered across the windows, perfect orbs forming for a brief moment against the glass until they morphed into heavy droplets and streamed downwards to their quick death at the pane.

"Oh, Harry, you're not still looking at those, are you?"

He jumped, shutting the book shut guiltily. He flushed, then decided there was no point in denying it. He re-opened the book, his fingers running down the photographs almost tenderly.

"Yes. Look at them all."

"Merlin, I haven't had a proper look in ages."

"Mmm."

"Lovely pictures, really beautiful. Dennis turned out nearly as good as Colin, didn't he?"

"Yes. He used Colin's old camera too, got really good at developing them. He really has an eye for the right moment, if you know what I mean."

The pictures were black and white. Black and white photos were Dennis's specialty. He used to take silly snapshots of people with cheesy smiles, bright with colour, but after Colin's death in the Battle, he took monotone pictures. "Colour detracts from the moment," he told Harry once. Dennis didn't like people to pose anymore. "See, it's just people playing pretend," he told Harry. "I don't want pretend. I want real."

And he had certainly got it.

"What a beautiful picture of Ginny!"

It was. Her face was slightly blurred, her eyes caught in a brief blink, her mouth smiling as she turned towards a friend chatting. And over here, a close-up of Seamus, his eyes half-closed, a rare moment of daydream, all his freckles sharply defined. And there was McGonagall, standing by the front steps…

"Did I hear my name?" Ginny came in, holding a half-empty cup of tea in one hand.

"No, you didn't. And where's my tea?"

"So rude," she said, but she was smiling.

"Just looking through Dennis's photographs."

"Oh," Ginny sighed happily. "I plan to marry him one day. He is completely amazing. He can transform anyone into a portrait of grace and mystery." She picked up a photograph from the mess, examining it.

"I'll album these if you want," Harry offered, seeing Ginny's delight as she sorted through the various pictures.

"Oh, Merlin no! I'd want these in chronological order…"

Harry sighed. Ginny had an eye for things like that. Dennis didn't believe in things as trivial as scribbling dates or names on the backs of photos. Harry wouldn't have a clue, but Ginny seemed to be able to pin down the date precisely. "You can see it in the faces," she said. "The expressions." But Harry could not.

"I'll album these," she said decisively. "Yes. I'll have to find the perfect album first though…got a quill, Harry? I think I'll start with this pile here…"

Harry and Hermione grinned. Aha. Once Ginny got a Project into her head, that was it. She was gone. Everything else was pushed aside, and she transformed into an unstoppable force.

"I suppose we're all going to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, right now?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Ginny said.

Harry sighed a long-suffering and weary sigh that nobody believed for a second.

* * *

It was important, she thought, as she moved through the stationary shop. It was important that they didn't know, that they were not burdened by this knowledge. Ginny reached out and chose a floral album, then rejected it. Hermione shifted restlessly behind her.

"I'm sorry," she said, smiling. "I'm taking ages, aren't I?"

"Yes," Harry said, and Hermione trod on his foot.

"Not at all. Take your time."

"You're just being nice," Ginny laughed. "It can wait another day." She was amazed at how easy this was, really. That she could still smile and laugh and look at her friends with nothing but love and honesty on her face, because it was all she felt. She remembered that day at Hogwarts, racing away into the sky and grass and sun. Wanting to run from it all. But now it was perhaps time for her to pause, to have a moment of breathless stillness.

"Are you alright, Ginny?"

"Yes."

Harry examined her face, as if looking for clues. "Only you didn't show at quiz night last night."

"Oh, Harry. I'm sorry. I completely forgot." Which was true. Ginny didn't want to lie, not now.

"You look tired. Are you feeling alright?"

"A bit of a cold. Oh, this is lovely!" Ginny picked up a black album, outlined with silver. "Perfect. This will really show off Dennis' black and white photography."

"I heard he refused a big contract with the Daily Prophet the other day."

"I'm not surprised. He never really was into all that journalism photography. He likes the small moments," Harry murmured, examining an inkwell.

The small moments. That's what a life is made up from, thought Ginny. The small moments. A kiss, a song, a smile. A letter.

She clutched the album to her chest and hurried to the counter.

* * *

Quiz nights were always bedlam.

It was all their old mates from Hogwarts – amazingly, a few Slytherins joined their motley crew. Even Draco Malfoy came along a few times, and Ginny saw him and Harry swap looks often - looks that had nothing to do with hate or disgust, but something else she could not interpret.

Who else made up their team? From Hufflepuff there was Ernie, from Ravenclaw came Luna. From Gryffindor came Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course, and Dean, Seamus and Neville. Even Lavender, who had become surprisingly mature. Then again, the Battle had made everyone grow up rather quickly. There was no room for children in war.

From Slytherin came Blaise, who annoyed the hell out of everybody and only dropped by occasionally, much to the relief of everyone. Pansy Parkinson was there a lot. She often got drunk towards the end of the night and ended up crying over the death of her cousin at the Battle, but aside from this was surprisingly good company, ribbing the Gryffindors good-naturedly and seemingly quite happy to put the past animosities behind them. Theodore Nott, too, occasionally filled in for absent members.

Ginny was the first there tonight. She had never been first before. In anything, she thought, and wondered if it was a depressing thought, or whether it really mattered at all. Probably not. People who came first in things obviously needed to prove something to the world, and Ginny didn't need to prove anything.

She got a jug of butterbeer - although it was Dean's shout - to start them all off, and a jug of water. She poured herself a glass and watched the people around her.

It was heading into summer, and the pub opened up into the beer garden. She watched sparrows peck at crumbs, watched the people sitting in the dying rays of sunlight, wanting the warmth to stay.

She could make out the figures of Draco and Harry sitting at one of the outdoors tables, Harry smiling sceptically, Draco gesturing away. She watched his hands flutter in the air. Harry laughed and caught hold of them gently and Ginny looked away, wanting to preserve their privacy. She glanced towards the door and as if on cue, Dean came through it in a mess of parchment and poster rolls. One of his studio's projects, probably.

"Ginny, you know it's not your shout!" he admonished her, grinning.

She just smiled in reply, watching as Dean left to register their team's attendance. Draco and Harry wandered back through the French doors into the pub. Draco drew closer to Harry for warmth but as if realising what he was doing, he quickly edged away again when he spotted Ginny.

"Hi," Draco said, sliding into a seat.

"Hi, Ginny. Merlin, what's all this crap?" Harry said, battling with a determined roll of cardboard.

"Dean's studio stuff, I think."

"I should have known. Draco, you want anything?"

"No, I'm alright," Draco said, and Ginny could tell from the way his body leaned to the left that he had taken hold of Harry's hand. She smiled at them.

"Are you sure you don't want a butterbeer? My shout," she said.

"I thought it was Dean's?" Harry inquired, and when Dean arrived back he was greeted with shouts of 'cheapskate!'.

"Oh, shut up. I'll buy the next round." Dean smiled lightly, taking the seat next to Ginny, pouring himself a glass of water. "Oh, here comes our tragic love story." He indicated Luna and Neville walking through the door. Luna was smiling, looking vague as always. Neville was merrily discussing the healing properties of Devil's Snare.

"...providing you can extract the essence safely, of course, it's quite an aggressive plant..."

"Just like the Nurple," Luna nodded.

"The Nurple? I, er, haven't actually heard of that one..." Neville became suspicious. "Do Gnargles live in them?"

"Yes, of course."

"Oh, I _see_. Hi everyone." Neville sat next to Harry. Draco still appeared to terrify him slightly. Luna, on the other hand, settled quite comfortably next to Draco.

"Hullo, Draco. Did you know our hair matches?" She smiled serenely at him. Draco flinched slightly, then whispered urgently to Harry.

"My hair doesn't look like that, does it?"

"Oh, of course not," Harry soothed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Do you want to collect the parchment and quills for us?"

"You're placating me, aren't you? I've learned to recognise the signs," Draco said suspiciously.

Harry smiled slightly and Draco couldn't help but return it. How they still thought their relationship was secret was beyond Ginny. She supposed they thought the only proof of a relationship was physical, like holding hands or kissing. Yet it was quite the opposite, really. The way they looked shyly at each other sometimes, or murmured something only the other could hear. Just in that moment, in fact – the way Draco turned instantly to Harry to seek assurance - it spoke volumes. It was exactly the same with Luna: the looks she gave Neville, the way she accidentally brushed his hand, his painful ignorance. There was a whole story in one glance.

"Alright, I'm here! You can all sigh in relief."

"Shut up, Granger." That was a running joke between Hermione and Draco; Hermione just burst into laughter and ignored him.

"How's everyone?" Ron said, distractedly peeling a price tag off his robes. "Bloody George went stupid with the pricing spell today."

"Two sickles ninety? You're a bargain," grinned Harry. Ron shoved him.

"Budge along."

"Shh, we're about to start."

"What? Where's the rest of them?"

"Seamus said he couldn't make it. Everyone seems a bit busy. Pansy said she'd come." Hermione hesitated, then – "and Blaise."

This was greeted by a chorus of moans and groans.

"Oh, _Hermione_!"

"What'd you have to go and invite him along for?"

"We were running low on numbers, I didn't have much choice!" snapped Hermione.

"I'd rather pay a homeless guy to come in and – oh, _hi_ Blaise!" Ron transformed his face into a painful smile.

"Hi," Blaise said, putting his feet on the chair opposite him. Dean, coming back with a couple of firewhiskeys, was unable to sit down.

"Move your feet, Zabini."

"Make me."

"If you guys told me he was coming tonight, I would've chucked a sickie," Dean sighed, setting down the drinks and kicking at Blaise's legs until he dropped them from the seat.

"Wouldn't we all?"

"First category!" called out the barman, waving for their attention. "First category: sports."

Hermione groaned and buried her head in her hands; Harry and Ron were triumphant.

"Alright, first question: When was the last year the Chudley Cannons reached the semi-finals?"

Ron looked as though he'd gone to heaven.

* * *

Three hours later, it was a different story. Ron had, unfortunately, reached the stage of inebriation where he thought everything anyone said (himself included) was hilarious. Pansy, who had arrived late but nevertheless made an admirable effort to catch up on the drinks, was staggering slightly. Dean was calling up Lavender ("I'm coming home early, Zabini is here") and Luna was staring dreamily at Neville. Draco was getting clumsy, knocking over drinks, alarmed because he'd only had a couple and was worrying he would appear drunk. Blaise was cracking onto any females he could find, apparently under the illusion he would eventually be successful.

"Ron, are you okay?"

"Me, you mean?" Ron burst into hysterical laughter. "Geddit?"

"No, Ron, I don't. I think you've had enough firewhiskey for tonight..."

"For Merlins' sake, would somebody get Blaise away from that hag before she sues for sexual assault?"

"Oh Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry, butterbeer doesn't stain, does it?"

They eventually wandered off into the street, bickering and bantering.

"Who's apparating?" Blaise asked, staggering into the middle of the road and rolling up his sleeves.

"Are you serious, Blaise? When you're this drunk?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"I'm all for the Knight Bus," Harry said wearily. "Would somebody signal, please?"

Hermione waved her wand and the purple bus appeared with a bang.

"I'll just walk home," Neville said. "I only live a few streets away."

"I'll join you, I think," Ginny yawned, and they waved goodbye as the others boarded the bus. Ginny hid a smile as they watched it careen chaotically around a corner, nearly taking out a mumbling Blaise.

"Should I walk you home, Ginny?"

Ever the gentleman. Ginny smiled and accepted as Neville walked beside her. He chatted about his work (he was currently studying Plant Biology) and recent inventions in the herbology world. Ginny half-listened, concentrating on placing her feet in a perfectly straight line, following a long, steady crack in the footpath.

"Here you go, Ginny. I'll see you next Thursday," Neville said, waving her farewell as she fumbled for her keys.

* * *

Her apartment was dark, though the curtains were still open as it had been daylight when she left. The moon cast a pale glow around the apartment, making the white countertops gleam as Ginny placed her keys in the fruitbowl and shrugged off her coat.

The silence might seem daunting after the noise of the banter and glasses clinking, yet Ginny found it soothing, a balm to her mind.

Did she feel lonely? Was she ever afraid? Ginny was surprised that she wasn't. She never felt lonely, in her little bubble, in her little apartment. The kitchen floor was cold under her feet; there had originally been vinyl but apparently the last tenant had ripped it up. She had planned to put in Italian tiles. Of course, she had to save up for them first, and for the time being, the kitchen floor was just concrete – and had been for many months. One of those things she got used to, and somehow found better uses for the money, like alcohol or those gorgeous shoes, half-price, genuine dragon skin, this week only.

Her bed was cold, but Ginny was used to that. She slipped in between the cool sheets, taking a Sleeping Draught, otherwise she knew she'd spend half the night wandering. Insomnia had plagued Ginny for as long as she could remember. She had learnt to accept this curse with grace. She would wander the streets at midnight, in the rain, and that was when she felt the most alive, and when the world was the most beautiful.


	3. Chapter 2

"A bit tardy, Miss Weasley!"

"There was a bit of a ruckus outside Flourish and Blotts."

"Oh, they've finally ordered in the new edition of _Hogwarts: A History_?" asked Ollivander, gently pressing on a wand. "Hmm. Not very springy, I fear."

"Oh." Ginny recognised it as a wand she had helped make yesterday. "Where did I go wrong?"

"I believe it may have come from a mistake you made last week." Ollivander raised the wand to his eye level, examining it minutely. "If the phoenix feather isn't stored properly, it can become damp and its properties are diminished."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, no need to apologise. You are still learning, after all," Ollivander said kindly. "It's a fault on my part, as I am the teacher. Now, when storing phoenix feathers one needs to..."

Ginny listened carefully, taking notes, as she knew she would probably have to refer to them later. She was looking forward to lunch break, when she would nip out across the busy alley to her brothers' shop. She had little chance to see them these days.

* * *

"I missed you last night," Ginny said, idly picking up something and dropping it again hurriedly as it began to whirl.

"Oh, I sent Zabini in my place."

"Wow, I didn't know you hated us that much."

George laughed and winked. "Made use of that Love Potion?"

"George, I'm twenty. Not some lovesick teen."

"Aw, you'll always be a lovesick teen to me." He went to scruff her hair but she ducked away, laughing, and wandered up to Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour.

* * *

Ginny stared out at the night, her face smooth and calm, a canvas waiting for the first stroke of emotion. The curtains fluttered and billowed. It was midnight, and the air was fresh and cool. Night-air always was. She watched the clouds drift past the full, heavy moon and wrapped her hand around the cup of coffee.

Oh, to be in this moment forever, to be locked into the ghostly moon-blue world of clouds and quiet and coolness. To never have to look back again, to never have to think about a future. To just stand here, looking at the moon, and wish everything away.

She looked down at the beach. Someone was walking along it, the moon giving them a long, dark shadow that spread across the beach. She wondered if they were looking up at the moon too, if they wanted to just keep walking along forever, not wanting the beach to end, but to stretch on and on.

She sighed and took her Sleeping Draught.

* * *

"Hi, Mum."

"Oh, hullo dear. I hear you won quiz night last week!"

"No; that was another team, they're always in front. You never know though," Ginny said cheerfully.

"Yes, you never do. Listen dear, if you see Ron, tell him I would like it if he remembered me occasionally..."

"Oh, Mum. He's busy, you know how it is."

"Well, I'd like to hear one of your brothers, at least. Is Fleur expecting yet?"

"No," Ginny said, winding the phone cord around her finger.

"Well, I want lots of grandchildren as soon as possible." Mrs Weasley paused. "Ginny, are you sure you're happy in that little apartment, by yourself?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Alright. Well, if it ever gets lonely..."

"Yes, I will. Listen, I've got to go. I'll see you later."

"Alright, dear. Give my love to the others."

No sooner had Ginny hung up then the phone rang.

"Ginny? It's me, Hermione."

"Oh, hullo."

"Thank Merlin you have a phone. Nobody else seems to have heard of them, my owl's sick and I'm tired of using the fireplace. My hair is full of soot."

"Oh, well. I suppose all of Dad's Muggle habits have worn off," Ginny smiled, remembering how proud and excited her father had been when she declared she was getting a telephone installed.

"I just wanted to make sure you were coming tonight?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Is it Thursday already?"

"Yes."

"You know, I think you can count me in as a regular, by now," Ginny said. There was a definite division in the group: for regulars, it was simply assumed they'd turn up and they were counted in automatically. For everyone else, they had to let Hermione know if they were coming or not.

"Oh, really? Excellent! I'll see you tonight!"

"Blaise won't be there, will he?" Ginny asked.

"No, he mentioned something about a raging party out in Liverpool."

"Oh, good."

Ginny said her farewells and hung up. Jem wove around her legs, meowing instantly.

"You know, I wish you were more like Crookshanks," sighed Ginny. At least Crookshanks knew when to comfort her. If she tried hugging Jem, he simply clawed his way out of her arms, yowling indignantly.

Ginny sighed, sliding down the wall gently.

"I don't think I'm handling this well at all," she said.

* * *

"Okay, last question in our History category," the barman announced, and everyone's heads shot down. "When was Durmstrang founded?"

"This is your area, Hermione," Ron said instantly, and everyone groaned.

"How'd I see that coming?" Hermione sighed, sipping her butterbeer.

"I think it was middle sixteenth century," Pansy said. "Or late fifteenth. Possibly early seventeenth."

"Just have another drink, Pansy," Harry said soothingly.

"No, no, she's alright, it gives us something to work on," Seamus said encouragingly.

"Does it matter? Hermione knows, she's just not telling us because it'd prove me right," Ron said, and they all looked at Hermione, who squirmed.

"Come on, Hermione!"

She caved.

"Sixteen twenty-six."

"I want to go outside," Neville mumbled, looking slightly nauseous. He'd drunk rather more than he normally did.

"I'll come with you," volunteered Ginny. "I could use a little fresh air myself."

"I'll join you." Luna took Neville gently by the elbow, steering him through the tables as Ginny followed. The three of them stepped out into the cold, crisp air of the night, breathing in sharply, the chill air making their throats hurt a little.

"Totally legless by his third butterbeer," Ginny laughed. "Pathetic." Neville pulled a face at her unhappily; Ginny smiled gently at him. "I'm sorry. You really can't hold your drink though, can you?"

"You know," Luna said, "my father always said that the smell of crushed gnargles is enough to make anybody sober."

"Er, I don't think I've got any on hand." Neville winced. He was clearly feeling unwell, and had a distinctly moody look on his face as he clutched his stomach tenderly.

"I'll make sure you're okay," Luna said, generously overlooking his lack of gnargles. "And Ginny. Ginny'll help out."

"Ginny's here?"

"There, in the shadows. I think she's waiting to mug someone."

This got a shaky laugh out of Neville as he calmed down in the fresh air and Ginny smiled, melting away from the shadows.

"It's true," she said. "How else do you think I could afford that last shout?"

Neville settled down, sinking slowly to sit on the curb. Luna sat next to him, on one side, and Ginny sat on the other, Neville safely between them.

"I'm sorry, I'm in the way. You two probably want to be next to each other...you can talk about crushes and all that girly stuff," Neville said brightly, attempting to understand females.

"I don't have a crush on anyone," Ginny said, shrugging as Neville changed places so that Luna was in the middle.

"What about Harry?" Neville asked.

"Oh, Neville. That was seventh year, a long time ago. I don't love anybody now."

"Oh," Luna said. "That's sad."

"I don't know about that," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Love can be embarrassing and unfair and painful."

"Pain is proof you're alive," Luna pointed out dreamily. "It shows you can feel."

Ginny looked at Luna, startled; an unexpected answer. But than again, what about Luna was predictable? Perhaps there was more to that sentence than met the eye. Ginny nudged a shard of glass near her feet, watching as the streetlight glittered across it, thinking about human behaviour and how bizarre it all truly was. And just when she thought she had it all predicted –

"I love somebody," Luna said, her voice clear and heart-breakingly honest.

Neville could have always ignored that, could have looked embarrassed and told Luna she was being drunk and emotional, could have given Ginny an apologetic, don't-know-what-she's-on-about look. Instead, he gently looped an arm around Luna's shoulder, sighing.

"Oh, Luna," he said, his voice sounding odd and soft and Ginny realised she had truly underestimated him. She realised that he had known all along, known that Luna loved him. Ginny too put an arm around Luna's shoulders, and they sat there for a moment, the three of them, sitting on the curb with their arms around each other.

And for a moment, Ginny loved the heartbroken world, with all its sorrowful imperfections.


	4. Chapter 3

She went round to Ron, Hermione and Harry's on a Sunday afternoon. She took her car. She'd learned to drive just because nobody else in the family had, and she wanted to be the first for once, instead of the seventh. She liked driving. She considered it an interesting hobby.

The car seat was freezing; she drew in her breath sharply as she got behind the wheel, turning the keys in the ignition. A little red light blinked, telling her that she had not got her seatbelt on.

"I know, I know," she told it, adjusting her rearview mirror slightly as she clicked in the seatbelt and cruised through the empty streets. It was raining, and apart from the occasional flash of a colourful umbrella, it was strangely quiet. She approached her friends' house, parking by the curb. Although it was just four thirty, ominous clouds had darkened the afternoon, and rain washed away any light. However a glow came from the front room of the house, and it made Ginny smile. She loved this place, her second home. Hermione would be in her daggy dressing gown and thick socks, warming milk in a saucepan. Ron would be in his room, as always. Sunday afternoons were devoted to rearranging his Chocolate Frog card collection, a youthful habit he had never grown out of. Harry would be warming his feet by the fire, keeping up with all his correspondents: writing to Dennis, sending a birthday card to Mr Weasley, penning a letter to the editor of a Muggle newspaper to hotly contest the spending of taxpayer-supplied funds on building a bypass which was _completely_ unnecessary, and Mr Greggins (_Letters_, August Fourth) seems to be completely misinformed on the entire matter, by the way...

Ginny didn't even bother with the front door. She just went around to the back porch, letting herself in through the little gate and in through the back door, ducking her head against the pattering rain.

The back door led straight into the dining and kitchen area, which was lovely because it meant the instant you walked in, you were greeted by someone. This someone was Hermione, making herself a hot chocolate.

"Oh, hi Ginny."

"Hi, Hermione. I just thought I'd pop in. It's been a couple of weeks."

"Far too long," Hermione said agreeably. "Hot chocolate?"

"Please." She kicked off her shoes to join the pile by the back door. Although only three people lived there, they seemed to have enough footwear to outfit an army.

Ginny didn't even bother ringing ahead, or sending an owl. She was always welcome. It didn't matter if nobody was home when she turned up. She just got the spare key from under the third pot-plant from the left, and let herself in to read a book or curl up by the fire until somebody inevitably arrived.

She collapsed on the couch now, yawning. A well-stocked bookcase was next to it, as well as a pile of books by the floor, serving as a temporary table apparently, with an empty plate and mug balanced precariously on top.

"Sorry about the mess."

"It doesn't bother me," Ginny smiled, as Hermione sat next to her, propping her feet up right by the fire.

"I suppose. You're such a neat person though, I'm certain that on the inside you must be screaming right now."

Ginny laughed. "Not at all, I can assure you. I'm used to it."

"I swear you make the room look cleaner just by sitting in it," Hermione smiled, and they laughed together, Ginny spilling a little cocoa as an ugly marmalade cat jumped up onto her, purring loudly.

"Crookshanks, get off," Hermione admonished, but the cat didn't budge. Ginny put up with him kneading his paws against her thigh uncomfortably, apparently deep in thought; Hermione gazed into the fire, also seemingly in her own little world. She jumped a little when Ginny spoke.

"I think Jem would be happier here."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. Cats love company, and I'm afraid I don't pay him much attention. I think he'd get a lot more love and affection here, and you know he gets on well with Crookshanks."

"Oh." Hermione chewed at her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I hardly ever see the poor thing these days, between work and social things. It would be kinder just to let him be here"

"Alright. Well, next time you drop in, bring him along, and we'll see if we can settle him in. I'll have to ask Ron and Harry, of course." Hermione sighed. Ron had a strong aversion to cats and also seemed to hate the fact that the house was in a constant state of hairiness, claiming he had to scourgify his work robes at least thrice every morning.

"Oh, hullo, Ginny." Harry ambled in, clutching a stack of parchment. "Got any stamps, Hermione?"

"Yes; should be some in the second drawer down. Listen, Ginny says she hasn't really got enough time to care for Jem properly..."

"Yes, I'm sure Crookshanks would love company," Harry said amicably, placing a sticking spell on the back of a stamp. Harry and his stamps! Pansy had given him the habit, very surprisingly. She loved the 'tiny little Muggle pictures' and collected them, using them herself even though she owled all the letters she sent. "It gives the recipient a nice surprise, I think," she said, and Harry had latched onto the idea with enthusiasm, although he used the Muggle post system for the added 'surprise' element.

"Could you drop these off at a post box on your way back?" Harry asked her hopefully, and Ginny smiled and nodded her assent, watching as he happily stuffed them into envelopes.

"I brought the photo album," she said conversationally. "I thought I'd do some extra work on it."

"Oh, by all means," Hermione said brightly, accio'ing a coffee table in front of them. She pulled out several shoeboxes of the photos from under the couch and placed them atop the table.

"Anything else, Ginny?"

"I brought everything I'll need."

She worked in silence for several hours; eventually, Harry came over and gently touched her shoulder. She suddenly became aware of the darkness outside the curtains, the smell of something delicious sizzling nearby. Ron was standing by the sink, peeling spuds with flicks of his wand, looking almost dreamily out the window, at the light of a passing car catching the raindrops on the window.

"Staying for dinner, Ginny?"

"Oh..." She was tempted. Her flat would be cold, the curtains not yet drawn, the woodstove unlit. But Jem would be yowling for his evening meal, and she managed to shake away any thoughts of staying later. "No, I think I'll go home now."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright." Harry smiled at gently, helping her to gather the photos up, to tidy up the snippings, the drops of glue on the table.

"Oh, are you off already, Ginny?" Ron said, and she nodded. He stepped away from the sink to give her a brief hug. Hermione was talking animatedly on the phone and saw her off with a distracted wave. Harry walked her to her car, through the rain.

"See you on Thursday, Ginny. Oh, I forgot." He handed her a stack of letters through the car window, then drew back to the safety of the front porch, waving as she drove away into darkness.

She cruised along the main road, stopping when she saw a post-box. She looked down at the envelopes, and smiled as she saw the first one, addressed to one D. Malfoy.

Harry had carefully placed a very beautiful stamp on this one, of the White Horse of Uffington. Harry always searched, painstakingly, for unusual and beautiful stamps for Draco.

She hurried to the post-box, dropping the letters in quickly before the rain could make the ink run, listening to the soft rustle as they landed, and half-ran back to the car as the rain suddenly hardened into brittle hail.

She drove once more into the night, almost mesmerised by the red taillights of the car in front of her, dipping and fading, as the rain spattered across her windscreen.

She wished she could keep driving forever and it hit her that she could. She could just keep following this road to wherever it left her and never look back.

She sighed and went home.


	5. Chapter 4

A customer bought a wand she had assisted in making. The first wand she had ever properly had a hand in, and she was overwhelmed momentarily by pride and happiness. The person buying it was a Muggleborn. She could tell in the way they stared at things, the enchantment in their eyes.

"Give it a swish," Ginny said encouragingly, and they cautiously gave it a little wave, as though certain nothing would happen and they would be laughed at. However, a bright stream of orange sparks came out and the small child's face beamed, the freckles seeming to burst with happiness. Their mother, Ginny presumed, smiled happily, resting a hand on the child's shoulder.

"My sister was a witch," the mother told Ginny, "but I wasn't. Is it a recessive gene? Does it skip a generation?"

"You know, I'm not really sure," Ginny replied. "Unfortunately there's been very little research available in the field of magic genetics. It seems to be quite random."

The child swelled with immense pride, proudly holding the wand up.

"Can I have this one?"

Ollivander came forwards now, frowning, thinking, occasionally getting out his little tape measurer and allowing it to do laps of the child's wrist.

"Yes, it has chosen you," he said, and the mother produced a bag of galleons uncertainly. Ollivander melted away again, leaving Ginny to explain the wizarding money to the mother and complete the transaction.

"I've got to get robes next. What house d'you think I'll be in? My aunt told me that if I'm in Hufflepuff she won't be pleased." The child looked anxious.

"I should be pleased, if I were her," Ginny said. "I've met some wonderful Hufflepuffs, very courageous and generous people."

The child looked slightly relieved, producing a fuzzy lollipop from their pocket to eat. The mother quickly wrenched it away and tugged the child out the door, saying a cheerful farewell.

"Your first customer," Ollivander observed, appearing once more, smiling vaguely as he rearranged wand boxes.

"Yes, they seemed quite pleased, but I don't think I can tell when the wand chooses the owner yet," Ginny said.

"Not to worry. It takes a long time to develop, like an instinct," Ollivander said. "You learn just by looking at them, perhaps chatting a little. You think they might seem like a flexible person, somebody who will yield easily, that they appear friendly. In that case, the more springy wands are required. On the other hand, if they seem to be more controlling of their strengths and weaknesses – a wand of harder wood is required."

"How can you tell their traits from a few looks and words?" Ginny asked.

"You will learn. Not, if I'm not much mistaken, it's your lunch break..."

* * *

Ginny spent her time in Florean Fortescue's parlour. He had returned, after the war; pale and strangely quiet. He would not speak of what had happened, nor where he had gone or why. In the end, the matter was left to speculation.

She was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, musing over the child in the shop – the first of many Hogwarts customers, Ollivander had warned. How lucky that child was, to be born two years too late to see the Battle! What if they had been a first year two years ago? They would not have even got a Hogwarts letter. They would have been denied entry into the only wizarding school in the United Kingdom. They might have been hunted down, interrogated, demanded to produce papers, taken to the Ministry to join the rest of their miserable caste in the courtrooms, where they would be chained to a chair and accused of things they could not possibly understand. Yet now – just two years, such a small time – they happily roamed Diagon Alley with all the lovely sights, all the shops open, not a shutter in sight.

The beggars, the Muggleborns brought down through the Ministry – they would be gone, returning to happier times! The streets would be clean, the people smiling and chatting. The child would be welcomed into Hogwarts, the teachers would strive to educate them well, the students would be friendly. Hogsmeade would be full of cheer again, the streets free from dark-hooded nightmares and lurking, evil shadows. The child would love the beautiful creativity and magic of the wizarding world, would love all the new things, the interesting people, the new ways of life. Oh, they might hear things – "before you were here, there was the Dark Time" or "the Battle happened right here at Hogwarts, hundreds were slaughtered" but they would be strange stories, like a nightmarish fairytale, from another time and age. How could they possible understand, the shadows and screams and murder, how could they think of the one they loved, see their face dissolving into blood?

But Ginny was not filled with resentment or anger that the child would remain so ignorant. No. She was filled the joy and rushing relief that a different generation of children would emerge, where the name Voldemort was all but a whisper in the past and where murder was something that belonged to another world.

"A Weasley, if I'm not much mistaken."

She looked up; Florean Fortescue himself was smiling down at her. She smiled amicably.

"Yes. Ginny Weasley."

"A friend of Harry Potter's?"

Ginny frowned. People were always trying to be 'friends of friends of Harry Potter' these days, and she loathed them with all their superfluous questions and superficial smiles. Yet Florean Fortescue seemed not the type, not the sort of person who would go around talking loudly about how they suddenly knew Harry Potter, how they were great friends, in fact, no, honestly they were, they got on like a house on fire, sending hilarious letters to each other so often that they had to arrange owl relays...

No. Florean simply observed her silently for a moment before speaking.

"I remember in third year, he used to sit here in the sun doing assignments. I found it quite lovely that the supposed Saviour, as they call him, had no idea about history. Goblin wars – he was particularly bad at those."

"Yes," Ginny said, not sure how to contribute to this strange conversation. "History of Magic was very boring."

Florean gave a small, sad smile. "I doubt very much that Harry would remember me at all – six years is such a long time. He seemed very happy back then, very young and polite, always smiling and asking questions. I recall thinking that he was a quite normal boy..." Florean sighed. "Unfortunately, I have not seen him since those days, not at all." He broke off, looking at Ginny. "I hope I'm not boring you, Miss Weasley?"

"Not at all."

"I expect you find it a little odd, a complete stranger approaching you and chatting away," he added dubiously. "But I have to ask. You see, although I know he will have long forgotten me, I have never forgotten him – that little boy, sitting in the sun puzzling over textbooks and dropping ice cream all over them. And then I think of all that lay before him, his terrible future that awaited him...Miss Weasley, if you could just tell me – is he alright? Is he happy again?"

Ginny looked at him for a moment, then smiled gently.

"Harry is very happy. He lives in a little house in Leeds" – Ginny didn't hesitate to divulge this information, she knew Fortescue would not pass it on – "that gets sun all the year round, and he loves to sit in the sunlight and read books, write letters."

Fortescue nodded a tiny, small nod to himself, as though some matter had been solved, a problem that had been weighing heavily on his mind for some years.

"I doubt he'll ever come back here," Fortescue said, "but please tell him that if he ever does, I'll be happy to shout him a sundae." He shook her hand politely and walked away.

* * *

Harry was like that, Ginny thought. He always seemed to impact on people's lives. They warmed to him easily and not because of his hero status. He had a gentle way about him, a quietness that was assuring and comforting, and she knew as soon as he spoke that yes, he may be hailed as a hero, a saviour, an idol to the wizarding world, but honestly, he thought he was a bloke who was decent at Quidditch and made really good Yorkshire puddings. To him, it was all over, and it meant he could be quiet again, he could sit by the fire on Sunday afternoons and write letters, that he could go for Saturday drives, that he could go meet his friends at the pub once a week for quiz nights. When he was tired, he could rest and when he was angry, he could walk away. The fight was over and with it, the fight in him was gone.

The Battle changed people's lives in different ways, Ginny mused. It wasn't just Harry. Some people, the ones not involved directly in the war, just didn't understand. They expected George to still be a carefree prankster and Ron to still be an immature git. They thought Draco Malfoy would still go around sneering and going on about how wealthy his father was (or rather, had been). They thought Ernie would still be a pompous twat and they thought Luna would still only be a useless dreamer. These were the same people who had the Ginny-and-Harry's-Little-Cottage-Together dream, the Ron-And-Hermione-Have-A-Family dream. Didn't they understand? Ginny had seen it coming before anyone else. Her uncle, the squib nobody talked about, he had been in a Muggle war. She thought he was always such a silent, thoughtful man, until she saw photographs of him in his youth, before the war. There he was, sticking two fingers up at the camera and smirking. There he was, laughing and running through shallow waves on a beach. Where had that mischievous, youthful man gone?

He had gone to war.

And Harry the Hero had gone to war, and Draco the Arrogant had gone to war, and George the Prankster, Ron the Immature. And they had left these people, these personalities behind, like empty shells.

She didn't know what she had been before the war. Ginny the Nice? Ginny the Naive?

She got up and walked away from the table, trying to shake away thoughts like a tree shaking dead leaves from its branches.

_

* * *

_

They were sitting round the table, half a jug of butterbeer in the middle. Pansy had her head in her arms, weeping softly. Draco was attempting to practice the lost art of Being Nice to Blaise, but his nerves were beginning to fray with the sheer effort of not calling him a stupid tosser.

"So, what are you up to these days?" Draco asked politely.

"I'm a lifesaver," Blaise grinned.

"Oh, get over yourself," Dean cut in.

"No, I'm serious."

"Whatever."

"No, no," Pansy said, lifting her head and gazing at them with tragic, red-rimmed eyes. "He's got his silver award. He goes down to Brighton, to practise."

The group gazed at Blaise, apparently quite surprised.

"What?" Blaise said, sounding annoyed. "Is it that unbelievable?"

"Well, yeah," Dean said. "I thought lifesavers were supposed to be...muscular."

"And selfless," Draco said.

"Exactly, he just wants all the hero attention," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, fuck off all of you!" snapped Blaise, but Ginny was too interested to stay quiet.

"What's it like, training?"

"Oh, it's pretty good. I'm going to go to Australia one day though, where the real beaches are," Blaise said good-naturedly. Ginny tolerated him, and in his book that qualified as a friend (his definition of friends being two people who were infrequently half-decent to each other). "I've nearly got my gold award now. I did the brick test really well last week."

"The brick test?"

"You've got to able to retrieve a brick efficiently," Blaise explained. "It sounds easy, but it's quite deep water, and what with the currents and visibility and everything, it's damn hard. It feels much heavier underwater, I'll tell you that."

"How does a brick equate a person?" Neville pondered. "Human beings are a lot heavier."

"Well, you probably would be, you're fat," Blaise said dismissively (and very unfairly. Neville had long since lost his puppy fat).

"Do you have to be so rude?"

"Yeah, it's fun," Blaise said, and another Blaise-war erupted: Blaise vs. The World. It was always that way. No matter how hard people tried, a little part of themselves would always hate him. It was that way he had of being completely unapologetic and his utter refusal to admit he was rude, annoying, or offensive. It drove them mad, in the end. They just wanted to grab him by the collar, push their face right into his, and say 'Everyone hates you, and you're a twat'.

Which was precisely what Seamus was doing right now. Dean was trying to defuse the situation, only to be taunted with the usual 'Why don't you and Seamus just have sex already' line, which made everyone snort. Dean, on the other hand, started yelling at Blaise, and Ginny started laughing as bottles spilled and whiskey went everywhere.

The barman threw them out.

You know you've had a good time when the barman throws you out; they launched down the street, arms around everyone's shoulders, singing loudly and awfully, as only drunks and young children can.

"_You were always on my mind...._"

"Shut up, the cops are coming!" hissed Dean.

"What, where?"

"In that car."

"_You were always on my miiiiiiiind_...."

The car pulled up and a uniformed policewoman peered out at them.

"Yeah, can we help you?" Blaise said.

The policewoman ignored him and wanted to know if they had been drinking.

"So what if we have?" Blaise said aggressively, which ended with all their bags being searched before the policewoman gave them a look, told them to keep the noise down, and drove away.

"Damn, Dean, how the hell did you know that was a cop car?"

"Oh, you know," Dean said, and looped his arms around Blaise's shoulders (a sign of exactly how drunk he was) and the two of them set off down the road, singing loudly.

"_You were always on my MIIIIIIND_...."

"Wrong key, Zabini."

"Fuck off, Thomas."

Ginny laughed all the way home.


	6. Chapter 5

Later that night, she thought of how this odd group came to be, this motley of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and Slytherins and Gryffindors who all hated each other. Perhaps it was simply the fact that after the war, house rivalry seemed rather stupid. It was like they'd been having a petty fight, this kid gang versus the other kid gang a few streets over, and then suddenly somebody dropped a bomb on the entire neighbourhood. It didn't matter then, did it? They were hardly going to emerge from the ashes and rubble, to start another rock-throwing fight with the opposing children. No; they were going to stand there, trembling in shock, knee-deep in tragedy, and not say a word, and neither would the other gang, because both understood that there was something bigger here, and something terrible had happened, and they weren't children anymore.

And so they looked at each for the first time and decided that perhaps they should call a truce.

Ginny smiled as she burrowed down in her blankets, remembering how they had all come to band together and enjoy each other's company.

* * *

They had to return to Hogwarts, everyone, to re-complete their disrupted year. Ginny returned to sixth year, Harry, Hermione and Ron to seventh. And a few months before they graduated, they played around with plans; the moment Hermione tentatively suggested getting a place for the three of them, Ron and Harry both excitedly jumped at once into a tirade of dreams and ideas.

"We'll head down South, where it's warmer," Ron said instantly.

"By the beach," Harry mused happily.

"Somewhere rural, where we can practise Quidditch."

"We'll swim every day in summer."

The list of requirements grew more and more idealistic and long. Hermione was determined for a city getaway, Ron wanted a quaint English village (somewhere nice and quiet was what they needed, he argued), and Harry was dreaming of a seaside retreat. Then Seamus and Dean were asking Ron what he was up to after the holidays, and said they wanted to go too, get some independence and move out of their parents' places. Neville overheard, George overheard, Harry presumably told Draco, in which Blaise, Pansy and Theo found out, then Ernie found out, apparently from Luna, and then Hannah wanted to come along, and Lavender hooked up with Dean so she was in too, and they promised Ginny that after she had graduated, they'd find a nice place for her nearby...and suddenly it had turned into a group of seventeen people, all requiring housing in the same area.

People were very determined to go certain places – for some reason, for example, Theo was particularly forceful in wanting to go to Kent.

"Kent? Why the bloody hell would you want to go to Kent?"

"Well, I've never seen it."

"Well, I've never seen Ireland, and I would rather eat a boiled badger than go there."

"Oi, what's wrong with Ireland?" – Seamus' aggressive contribution.

"Nothing, if you like rolling hills and idiots."

"Oh, really? I'd say the real reason you wouldn't want to visit is because you're reminded that England violently oppressed and slaughtered innocent people for hundreds of years –"

It may have gone all downhill from there, except Ron loudly asked Harry where he wanted to go, and everyone paused, a brief silence settling on them.

"I'd just like to go somewhere away from it all," Harry said quietly, and they all knew what he meant. Away from Hogwarts, which was lovely but held too many devastating memories of that fateful May night. Away from Diagon Alley, with its memories of crippled Muggleborns and shuttered shops, away from Hogsmeade with its stained cobblestones and alleyways where Death Eaters and Dementors alike once lurked.

This was a lovely way to think of things, because suddenly everybody had somewhere they _didn't_ want to be, which was a much better way of narrowing down locations. It was a universal agreement that they didn't want to be near Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. Scotland in general was ruled out.

"I don't want to be in Surrey," Harry said.

"I don't want to be in London," Neville said and although he did not offer an explanation, nobody challenged him.

"I do not want to be near Wiltshire," Draco Malfoy said quietly, and Harry, Hermione, Ron and Luna all looked at him and said nothing. They too had memories of Wiltshire, memories they would like to forget.

"I'd rather not be near Godric's Hollow," Harry said hesitatingly, and Ginny recognised something in his voice and thought she knew why he would chose to deliberately not return there. It was hard when his parents were legends and his birthplace a shrine, and it was understandable that although Harry loved his parents, he wanted to distance himself from them, from the memorials and the destroyed home of his infanthood.

"I think I want to get a little independence from my parents, if you know what I mean," Ron offered. "If I'm going to move out, I might as well do it properly. I don't want somewhere where Mum can pop in every five minutes and claim she was just passing by."

"I don't want to go to Wales, they've all got coal dust behind their ears and speak gibberish," laughed Blaise and everyone told him to shut up.

"You uncultured pig," Pansy said angrily. "My mother is Welsh and she's wonderful."

Even Blaise had the sense to shut up then. He wasn't below using mothers or nationalities as an insult, but using this against Pansy was an entirely different matter. He had grown up with her and learnt the hard way that she had a mean left hook, and she fought like a gutter boy when it came down to it. Ginny had heard rumours but refused to believe them until one day she witnessed Blaise arguing with Pansy. He said she looked gross in pink, she hit him, he shoved her – and subsequently, he suffered a wand jabbed straight into his groin.

"That's not fair!" he had squeaked in agony. "That's not the way you play, Pansy!"

"I don't care," she had replied and walked away, and the realisation had dawned that yes, Pansy would go for the groin and yes, she wasn't adverse to gouging eyes or twisting nipples because there wasn't a code of honour for her. It was even more surprising because she was a slim girl, a girl with careful hair and nails, and somehow you imagined her swinging a handbag at someone or slapping them ineffectually across the face. But no, Pansy was a rough, tough, hard little fighter. Ginny should have realised it earlier. Many people had thought of Ginny herself, at Hogwarts, as a lovestruck, sweet, silly little girl. However, as she grew older, her mastery of the Bat-Bogey Hex gained infamous status.

In any case, Theo had intervened and tiredly asked Blaise to stop offending people (his exact wording was 'go fuck a thestral, Zabini'), and in the end, as they had yet another argument in the Hogsmeade pub, Ginny made a quiet observation.

"Harry isn't here."

They looked around in surprise.

"Nor is Hermione."

"Or Ron."

They looked at each other. Neville was the first to break the silence.

"Good. I'm glad they've finally done it. Otherwise we would have just sat here arguing for months."

"We've been betrayed," Ernie said gloomily.

"I'll owl him," Seamus sighed.

They met at the pub a week later. Seamus had a reply.

"They've moved to East Riding Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire - !"

"I don't want to go to _Yorkshire_!"

"They say they're about a hundred metres down from a nice river," Seamus went on, ignoring them all. "And there's a train station nearby." Seamus paused here, allowing room for muttering. "Brightwater, is the precise address."

"Brightwater...isn't that near Weirwold Hill? Isn't that where all the snobs go?"

"Where's Malfoy?" Neville asked, unusually making lightning-fast connections.

There was a terrible silence.

"I see," Pansy said, and wrote out a note, speaking aloud as she did. "Dear Draco....please....tell....me...you...have...not...run...away...with...Potter...and....friends. Love, Pansy."

"Short and succinct," Ernie said.

"Why would he run away with the trio?" Theo wondered.

Everybody else swapped glances, their eyebrows very raised. Even Ron, with the sensitivity and subtlety of a comatose toad, knew. Actually, he had been the first to know, and had kept it to himself for several months. For this reason, he had gained a lot of respect and dignity. Ginny admired him for that, and she had rarely admired any of her brothers before. That was the point of brothers. They were supposed to grotty little things that got in the way. But after the war, Ron had become quiet and more slow in his actions, more thoughtful, and Ginny was forced to reassess her image of him.

"Er, how to put this," Seamus pondered.

"Oh, Theo couldn't handle it," Pansy jumped in quickly. "Trust me."

"Um – Malfoy has called a truce with Harry," Neville began hopefully, whilst looking desperately around. Dean dived in with assistance. "He's, er, helping Harry with, er...."

"A potion," Luna said sweetly. "He's helping Harry with a potion."

"You know how hopeless Harry is with potions," Seamus said.

"No, he's not," Theo said suspiciously.

"What? You were in our class, you saw how he was –"

"Well, yes, but Potter got into NEWT level Potions," Theo said.

"A lucky fluke," Ginny tried.

"He blitzed his sixth year," Theo pointed out, being annoyingly reasonable.

"He cheated."

"Potter wouldn't cheat." Theo looked thoroughly unconvinced.

"Yes, but this is a very difficult Potion."

"Why didn't he just get Granger to help him then?"

"Hermione, er, lost all her memory..." Dean looked around wildly for help.

"What, all of it?"

"No, just, um, memory of Potions class from, say, fourth year onwards..." Pansy trailed off, perhaps realising how odd this was sounding.

"That's a very specific time frame," Theo said critically. "Very specific."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Theo, stop asking questions and drink your firewhiskey," Seamus snapped, and everyone laughed. Theo just looked annoyed, but obediently drank away and was under the floor in no time, all thoughts of Draco and Harry forgotten.

* * *

And, as Ginny noted, by two months later nearly the whole of the DA seemed to follow them there. Hermione, Ron and Harry lived in a place called Brightwater, on the corner of two roads: Barrow Lane, which led down across some railway tracks and ended shortly on the riverbanks of the River Richmond, and Main Road, which had been the main road out and into town until a bypass was built.

They had the 'best woodfired pizza place in Britain' (or so they claimed) just down from them on the Main Rd. Next to it was a takeaway place, directly across from a playground which mellowed out into a wonderful cricket pitch, and, further on, a reserve. Further on down the main road was a very large, grassy area on one side of the road, with the railway tracks running through it, low down near the river's edge.

"It'd be a perfect Quidditch pitch," Ron said longingly.

"Except for the fact it's on the main road in a Muggle suburb," Hermione said quickly, before Ron could get any Ideas. "In any case, the house is wonderful -"

"The cricket pitch near the playground then, that's a little further away from the road..."

"There's Muggle families there all the time, Ron."

"Alright, the reserve that patters out behind it."

"Ron, a lot of Muggles use that for walking tracks."

"How about the sports oval down Barrow Lane?"

"It's flat, there's no cover, Muggles would see us a mile away."

"Oh, stuff the Muggles," Ron said grumpily, and everyone cheered and rose their glasses to him in jest.

"To Ron, and his unattainable Quidditch ground!"

"May he forever be seeking the perfect pitch," Ginny said solemnly, and a cheer rose again.

"Shouldn't we be toasting to their new house?" Neville queried, but Hermione waved them off.

"Oh, no. Plenty of time for that at the house-warming party."

"You're having a house-warming party?"

"Yes, except you know, we don't actually have any of your addresses, so I thought I'd just hand them out now, rather than hope the owls could find you. Let's see...here's one for Neville, and Luna...Seamus, here's yours....Where's Dean's?"

"Ooh, a cocktail party, Hermione, this sounds great," Ginny said, reading her invitation. "Shall we all wear dress robes?"

"Yes, I thought it'd be a bit of lark to get the blokes to dress up," Hermione grinned. Ginny noted Ron's distinctly sour expression. Harry wasn't looking too impressed either. However the girls of the group were already excitedly planning their outfits.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Hermione said. "Here's one for you, Malfoy. I'm sorry, I nearly forgot. And Parkinson, of course..."

The Gryffindors had allowed a truce, in the face of burying the hatchet. However when Hermione wavered over whether to extend invites to Theo and Blaise, both Ron and Harry had put up a spirited fight. Ginny had, unfortunately, been the first guest to unofficially see the house; the day she had dropped in had been the day they were wording the invites, and she stepped straight into an argument.

"We hardly even know Nott!"

"Oh, come on Ron, we've chatted to him a few times..."

"No we haven't, he's just happened to lurk in a group of people we've met with, and that's entirely different."

"Don't be silly, Ron, we'll look very rude not to invite both him and Zabini –"

"Zabini?" Harry blurted. "For the love of Merlin, Hermione, we know him even less than we do Nott."

"Yeah, and from what little I've heard, the guy's a tosser," Ron chipped in. "Look, I haven't got a problem with Malfoy or Parkinson, but you're pushing it now." Hermione looked embarrassedly at Ginny, the sole sane female in her world.

"Ginny, what do you think?"

Ginny hesitated. Ron was giving her death-looks, Harry was glaring determinedly at a light fixture.

"I don't think you'll look rude not to invite them...as Ron and Harry said, you hardly know them, and they should know that and understand that it's a gathering of close friends and family only," Ginny offered.

"Cheers, Ginny!"

"Oh, shut up Harry," Hermione snapped, but she looked relieved as she crossed the names off the list. Ginny was glad they had invited along Draco and Pansy, although both had regrettably declined, due to work commitments. The looks on their faces as Hermione handed them invites was astounding. Clearly they had not expected invites and were prepared to be gracious about their absence. When Hermione had handed them over so casually, she had also buried years of unhappiness and grudges. After the housewarming party, everyone just seemed to slip naturally into referring to others by the first names and chatting casually, no matter what house they had been in at Hogwarts.

* * *

Ginny woke up.

She'd been dreaming, she remembered that. She'd fallen asleep remembering times past, when Harry, Hermione and Ron had first moved to Brightwater and the spectacular house-warming party that had followed.

The memories followed her for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Are you alright, Ginny?"

"Yes, I'm just daydreaming." Ginny smiled at Neville. "Thinking of Hermione's housewarming party."

"Oh, that was fun. I remember I ate somebody's pillow," Luna said fondly.

"We did try to wrench it off you, but in the end we had to put you in a dark room by yourself for a bit."

"Did you get drunk, Luna?" Neville was amazed. Luna just smiled serenely.

"I did have twenty-two firewhiskeys, but I think it was Ron's Cheering Charm that did it."

"That's right. He was aiming for Pansy, who was on the second storey sobbing hysterically and threatening to jump out the bathroom window."

"Poor thing," Luna said sympathetically.

"Mmm. She seems to never get past the sad drunk stage." Ginny shook her head morosely.

"I did offer to make her an inebriation amulet, made of dried gupnuts and pickled toad feet," Luna said. "It's supposed to ward off the effects of alcohol. She declined though."

"I can't imagine why," Ginny said dryly, swapping a glance with Neville.

"Oi, would you lot stop gabbling and help out? Ginny, what's the mascot of the Holyhead Harpies?" Seamus waited, his quill ready.

"I don't know, a harp?"

"Too obvious," Ernie said darkly. "They're clearly trying to trick us."

"I told you idiots, it's a bloody eagle."

"Why the hell would they have an eagle, Dean?"

"I don't know, Seamus, I'm sure you could think up something," snapped Dean. Tempers were starting to fray. For some reason, everyone was in a distinctly selfish mood, trying to palm off their shout onto someone else, and George had sent Blaise in again, much to the chagrin of everyone. Blaise had the annoying tendency to weasel drinks off everyone else yet never buy a shout himself. He also bought drinks solely for himself, with the result that everyone was still sober while he was roaring drunk.

"Where's Zabini?" asked Neville, clearly thinking along the same lines as Ginny.

"Over there. He told me he was going to try his luck with an anorexic bimbo."

There was a brief pause.

"What, that pool cue over there?"

"Yeah."

"Blaise is making out with a pool cue?" Seamus could hardly talk through the laughter.

"Somebody should tell him," Draco said loyally.

"Okay, why don't you?" Lavender asked him.

They all turned to observe Blaise and his lady-cue for a second; the moment was too good to miss.

"On second thoughts," Draco said, the glee in his voice barely restrained, "perhaps we should let him get on with it."

There was another pause.

"Anyone got a camera?"

* * *

Ginny drove round to Hermione, Ron and Harry's on Sunday, to her second home. She loved it, although she rarely spent time in any room but the kitchen, in front of the warm fire in winter, basking around the sunny oak table in summer. The back porch also led out into a glorious meandering garden, in which Crookshanks loved to hide and pounce on unsuspecting ankles. The front porch was permanently in shade and rarely used.

However, this afternoon, Hermione was out the front, pruning some roses. She pushed damp hair from her eyes and gave a little wave as Ginny came up the path.

"Hullo Ginny. Neville promised me he'd pop round to do this for me, but he's had to work late and I figured I may as well just do it myself." Hermione pulled a thorn from her sleeve. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"I can get it myself," Ginny assured her. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Not at all, it's a welcome break. Come on."

As Hermione fumbled with the front door, Ginny thought about how she had almost never used the front entrance, and it said a lot for her friends' home that in fact, she couldn't actually recall seeing _anyone _use the front door. It just felt odd.

The front door didn't open up into a hall or anything as grand as that. It opened onto a corridor that ran straight along with various doors along it, the right side ending in the little door that led to the kitchen, and the left side leading upstairs.

Upstairs was small. The wooden staircase ended in two cosy bedrooms, which shared a little bathroom. Hermione had banished the boys upstairs, with the idea that the downstairs bathroom could be all hers and the boys happily agreed. Ron had quickly claimed the bedroom with a view over the front lawn and street. However, it appeared soon that Harry had got the best room, for sun streamed through his large windows all the time. The windows opened directly up over the back porch roof. In summer, when people came round for barbecues and the like, a small private gathering almost always ended up in Harry's room - usually the close ex-Gryffindors. Dean would laze on the floor, stretched out across sun-warmed floorboards. Seamus and Hermione would be flopped over Harry's bed, mumbling conversation (usually about their jobs), their eyes half-closed again the sun. Harry would be sitting on the window-sill, his legs stretched out across the back porch roof, gazing out across the garden. Ginny would be draped over Harry's old couch in the corner, trying to shove Ron off it, flipping lazy through one of Harry's books.

"Chudley Cannons, Harry? How awful. I thought Ron was their only fan."

"Shut up, Ginny." Ron would nudge her; she would shove him, and they would comfortably submerge themselves into brother-sister bickering, old and familiar as Harry's couch.

Sometimes Ginny would try to look over Harry's shoulder, as he sat at the window, to see what he was looking at. But he never seemed to be looking directly at anything; his eyes just gazed, absently following a fly making lazy circles, or watching a cloud skim overhead. Sometimes something caught his eye – a flash of white as the sun dazzled off something, or bursts of sparks or flames from a particularly incendiary product George had brought along and had decided to demonstrate.

But, presently, Ginny was moving through the dark hallway, her eyes trying to adjust. In front of her, Hermione removed her protective gloves with difficulty.

"You look sad, Ginny." Hermione observed, entering the kitchen. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm just thinking about last summer." Ginny gave Hermione a sad smile. "It was the best summer in years, do you remember? Everyone was saying it was the hottest on record..."

"The weather was lovely," Hermione agreed. "Is that all you're looking sad about?"

"Not just the weather. I don't know. When you first got this place last summer, and all we ever did was invade –"

"Oh no, everyone was always welcome," Hermione said quickly. "Always."

" – well, yes, but you know. I mean, we were polite at first, you know, wiping our feet very carefully and owling at least a week in advance before popping round for a cup of tea...and we were all very cautious around each other, you know, with the Slytherins in one corner and the Gryffindors in the other, and whenever we interacted we spoke very carefully, in order to scan the sentences ahead for anything that might offend..."

Hermione was laughing now – "Very true!" but Ginny went on.

"Yes, but in the end, it was just like one big family, honestly it was. In the end, we were all jumbled up, and – oh!" Ginny jumped up; Hermione sat back, alarmed.

"What's the matter!"

"Where's my album?"

"Just on that bookcase...hang on..." Hermione dug around for a few moments, throwing aside various forms and letters and old newspapers. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Yes, thanks." Ginny took it and flipped through excitedly. "Look! Do you remember that? Ron and Harry told Dennis he should take a photo of everyone with their arms around each other, you know, to show that we were over the whole house rivalry thing. Mark a new beginning and all that. But he didn't. Dennis said he didn't like people posing."

Hermione said nothing, looking at the photo carefully.

"I'd completely forgotten about this one," she said quietly. "I think that was the day we all went down to the beach..."

"Yes, all squished into Harry's car, and yours. And you spent ages trying to get the sand off your seats afterwards..."

It was a very simple photograph, Dennis's signature black and white. It had just enough background detail so people could see where it was. Floorboards, the rough edge of a wooden door, a slight trail of sand, so that they could see it was Harry, Ron and Hermione's kitchen. The main subject of the photo, however, was the enormous jumble of shoes. Sandy flip-flops, formal boots, tatty sneakers, neat black work shoes, stylish sandals, well-loved heels, even a pair of old Hogwarts school-shoes...all different shapes and sizes. It was clear every owner was different. Straps and laces and buckles all tangled with each other, the sunlight catching every detail and texture...

"Did I mention I plan to marry him?" Ginny said.

"Numerous times."

"He is amazing."

"I know. Biscuit?"

"No thanks, I think Ron slipped some Canary Creams in there for a joke," Ginny said absently, glancing at the biscuit jar momentarily.

"Oh, you think I would have learned by now," Hermione sighed, emptying the tin. As she straightened up she caught sight of Ginny's expression, as she held the photograph tenderly up to the light. Ginny caught her eye for a moment, then quickly slid the photograph back into the album, turning away and busying herself stirring her tea.

"We were like a family, really," Hermione said softly.

"Yes, but things change, don't they?" Ginny said, placing her teaspoon in her saucer with a neat clink. "Harry went off and bagged that Auror job, Ron and George are off busy with the shop...Dean started up his studio, and Seamus is running that sweet shop in town – he's so busy with that now, it really rivals Honeydukes...." Ginny was ticking them off on her fingers as she went; she paused and moved onto the Slytherins. "Theo's got that girl down in Clacton, spends all his time down there, he's more distant than he ever was, and Draco's alone, up at Weirwold, busy trying to forget everything."

"And Pansy's got her Healer job," Hermione added unexpectedly. "I remember, she shot through her apprenticeship, they said she was one of the most natural they'd had for years. She's working on specialising in a field this year though, so she has to work harder than ever."

"Neville's off courting Hannah and working at that Herbology Professor position...Oh, yes, and Luna – as soon as summer had ended she got that new job as a field reporter for _The Quirky Quill_, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes, she owled me to say she couldn't come to next quiz night, she's going off on a two-week trip somewhere to report on recent sightings of the Copolyps," Hermione said, making a face as she sipped at her now-cold tea.

"And what on earth happened to Parvati? She took off at the start of summer without a word."

"She said she was going to travel Europe for a bit, just by herself. For some space," Hermione said.

"Oh." Ginny scratched at a mark on the table, her expression unreadable.

"We've still got Ernie," Hermione said. Blaise wasn't worth mentioning. Oh, they thought they might actually have the smallest smidgeon of affection for him, after hanging around him so much, but they honestly didn't. They just grew to tolerate him, slightly.

"Oh, Ernie. He's lovely, but you know...he's always too busy to come to things, or to drop in, or even send an owl," Ginny said.

"Not really one of us, you mean," Hermione said.

"Yes. And Theo. I mean, he actually seemed really nice during summer, you know, getting on really well with everyone, actually becoming friends. But then he went off and got his new girl and job and spends all his time with both of those...."

"The problem with friendships," Hermione noted, "is that they require maintenance."

"Very true." Ginny sighed, looked up and saw Hermione's face. "I'm sorry, I'm depressing you, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Hermione laughed. "I just haven't thought about last summer for ages."

"Well, I have. I do, all the time. I want it back. That's all I want," Ginny murmured. "Blue skies again, and friends and barbecues and taking photos of Blaise doing stupid things."

Hermione looked at her in surprise; sometimes it seemed as though the war had washed all of Ginny's emotions away, and although she still smiled and looked serious and occasionally laughed, she felt nothing. But here she was now, nostalgia in her voice and something indescribable in her eyes.

Hermione stood up. Suddenly, she wanted that summer back too. Oh, not like Ginny did. Hermione had long moved on since that careless summer. But people worked in different ways. Hermione longed for the first year, for example, of Hogwarts, when she was young and silly and thought the written word was the most important thing in the world. It had taken her a long time to learn that it wasn't the word, but the writer who mattered. And she wanted to go back to those days, when she was ignorant of everybody's fates.

And Harry, she knew, was just happy now, and Ron wished his family was together again, and Ginny wanted summer, where she could sleep in the sunlight and open her arms to the sky, and it would wash away all the memories that had ever stained her mind.

"The weather's getting warmer," Hermione remarked.

"Still chilly though. It's early spring yet," Ginny said. She could still feel winter's breath in her bones.

"Summer's coming though. You can smell it some days."

Ginny knew they weren't talking just about seasons. "But everyone's got jobs now, and partners," she said. "I know it's not fair. We had no chance as teenagers. We should have been laughing, we should have been dancing all night." She stood too, level with Hermione. "But we spent our nights practising spells, and we spent our days warding off torture and injustice. But I know, I know we've got to move on." A wasted youth, thought Ginny. Oh, how badly she wanted to be young again, to claim what should have been hers. But she couldn't buy back time. The memories ran through her fingers like sand, irretrievable, unstoppable.

Hermione looked at her; there was a long and thoughtful silence.

"I think we've got one summer left in us," Hermione said.


	7. Chapter 6

It happened when Ginny was arranging the wands carefully. Such an ambush in her dusty little world! She was moving deep within the rows of wands, inhaling their deep, woody scent, moving through the quiet mustiness, locked in a world of dreams.

"Excuse me."

Ginny jumped and wands cluttered to the ground, sparking slightly. Ginny collected them quickly, fumbling, taking her time so as to wait for her face to lose its flush.

"I'm sorry, you surprised me," Ginny said, standing up straight again, placing the wands back into their delicate tissue paper.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention," the woman apologised. "I was hoping you could help Alicia?" The woman indicated a small child by her side.

"A new Hogwarts student?"

"Yes, and she only bought her wand last week, but...." the woman reddened, very slightly, "she broke it."

"She broke it!" The words slipped out automatically. Ginny was amazed. Either bad luck or a very violent child was the cause.

"Yes, and I was hoping it was reparable?"

"I'll just fetch Mr Ollivander for you, I'll see what he can do," Ginny said, excusing herself, and hunted down Ollivander in the dusty back storerooms.

"A mother says her child broke their wand already."

"Dear me," Ollivander said, looking quite unsurprised. "I'll have a look. Come along, Miss Weasley, you may learn something. Ah, Miss Clearwater –"

_Clearwater_. Ginny frowned. Why did that sound so familiar? Clearwater...

Penelope Clearwater. Ginny had unleashed the basilisk on her in second year, when Voldemort had possessed her.

Ginny stared at Penelope, who smiled blandly back. It was obvious she did not recognise Ginny at all. Ginny could (and probably should, she thought) let this go. However she found her hand outstretching itself.

"Penelope Clearwater? We went to school together. I'm Ginny Weasley."

"Oh, _Ginny_! Of course! And how's Percy?"

Ginny stared at her blankly, then – oh yes, Percy's first girlfriend. That too.

"He's – he's doing wonderfully. He's Senior Secretary to the Minister," Ginny said.

"Wonderful. Always had high ambitions." Penelope smiled and turned as Ollivander said, fortunately, the wand was reparable. Penelope and Ginny politely said their goodbyes.

"She's much too young to have an eleven-year-old child," Ginny said, frowning. "I just assumed it was her daughter at first, but..."

"Oh, Penelope Clearwater, Miss Weasley? It was believed her parents had produced fake bloodline papers, in order to send their young son to Hogwarts. Ministry officials went to raid the house and capture the family to be judged as Half-Bloods before the Wizengamot," Ollivander said, gently readjusting the wands the Ginny had dropped. "Unfortunately, the family resisted and a violent duel took place. In the confusion Penelope managed to escape with her younger brother. Her sister, parents and grandparents were sent away."

"Did they reunite after the war?" Ginny asked. She wanted a happy ending, for this girl, for Percy's old flame, with the sad eyes and lovely hair.

"Her grandparents died in custody. Her parents are missing, presumed dead," Ollivander said. "Fortunately, she was able to find her younger sister and claim legal guardianship over her two younger siblings."

Ginny wondered how many other stories she didn't know, how many she would not know. What happened to Justin Finch-Fetchley? What happened to Eloise Midgeon, the girl with the acne, and Cho Chang, the bitterly unhappy Ravenclaw? Terry Boot, the adventurous DA boy? Didn't she see his body fall from a staircase, at the Battle of Hogwarts? Did somebody catch him? Angelina Johnson, arriving at the last second to shoot out a blocking spell that saved Hannah Abbot's life? What happened to Angelina after that? Ginny couldn't remember. Too much noise and colour and screaming, oh Merlin, the screaming, as though the dying thought that if they screamed loud enough, some higher being would hear them, hear their cries, and grant them mercy. As though a god would look down at them and say 'you're too young' or 'you're needed' or 'you are loved'. But that was the truth, wasn't it? The young were killed, and the needed were killed, and the loved ones were killed. There had not been a body in the Great Hall that did not have somebody weeping over them, clutching at cold hands, begging for them to come back, clinging on until somebody had to rip them away.

Ginny had to rip someone away. Her brother, distraught, broken in two over Fred's body. Percy, she thought it was, although she couldn't be sure. He had clung, moaning insensibly, over Fred's body. He had fought her like the devil himself when she had reached out to pull him away.

"Get off me!" he had snarled.

"There's a war, there's no time you idiot!" she had screamed, and shocked herself by her own cruel words. Cruel, but true. There's a war, so you'd better get up right now, wipe the blood off your lips, brush the dirt and skin off your robes, because we need soldiers, not brothers or parents or lovers. We need soldiers.

Ginny didn't think she was a soldier. People like Hagrid were soldiers, running in without a thought for themselves, only for justice. People like Hermione. Ginny had seen her, wand raised, her face set into a mask of white fury, duelling with cruellest witch on earth, Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione had not hesitated. She had valued justice over her life.

Ginny couldn't remember what she'd done. She thought maybe she shot a few spells off, tried to distract Bellatrix, tripped someone with a jinx. Who could remember? She felt like she and Draco were kindred spirits in that way. She wanted to run too. When she saw him racing past her she wanted to cry out, 'oh, please don't leave me here, don't leave me here with them'.

But then again, perhaps they weren't, because Harry had to save Draco's skin twice, at the end when Draco just sort of lost it and ran around as though he was on fire. Whereas Ginny was not the sort to panic and have other people chase after her and save her life. Well, her mother saved her life once, at the very end, with Bellatrix. And that was probably worse than having Harry have to rescue you. Merlin, your own mother....

Ginny burst out laughing. Ollivander gave her a look.

"I think you can take your lunch break early, Miss Weasley."

_

* * *

_

"I'm tipsy."

"I know, Ginny."

"I hate being tipsy."

"No, it's great!"

"No, it's not. Everyone else is overcome with love and hilarity, whereas I just feel a bit dizzy and stupid."

"You do get a little clumsy," Harry sighed, handing her ice wrapped in somebody's scarf.

"I know, I know. I swear that table jumped out at me." Ginny held the scarf tenderly her forehead.

"It did. George jinxed it." Harry observed.

"I bet he's regretting it now."

"Yes. Well, he was a little apologetic. Now he's gone off to play pool."

"Oh dear. Against Pansy, I suppose?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

"That will not end well," Ginny said darkly. "Not well at all."

"Yes. Pansy's already charmed one of the cue balls to avoid George's cue."

"It goes downhill fast," Ginny said gloomily. "Just wait and see."

"Oh, I don't think so. We should get out of here fast."

"I'll toast to that," somebody said from behind them. Draco was retreating from the brawl that was erupting at the pool table.

"Hang on, George!" roared Ron, leaping past them, closely followed by an angry barman.

"Oh, who let Ron have the firewhiskey?" Ginny said in exasperation. "He always goes into hero-mode."

"I think that was me," Harry said dejectedly. "I think I'll go back home..."

"Good idea," Ginny said. "Will you floo?"

"They've run out of floo powder," Harry said, "and the barman told us to pass on the word that the Knight Bus is out. Apparently a fire hydrant didn't get out of the way fast enough – it was playing chicken, apparently –"

"Oh dear."

" – it's alright, I'm sober, so I'll just Apparate. What about you, Ginny?"

"Oh, I'll walk."

"I'll have to walk you home, I don't think Neville's in a fit state," Harry said, and they turned to observe Neville, lying on the table and having a staring competition with an empty pitcher.

"Don't be silly, Harry, I don't want to hold you up."

"No, it's fine," Harry objected. "What if you got mugged or something? I'd never forgive myself."

"I'm a witch. Don't be stupid, you've seen my Bat-Bogey Hexes," Ginny smiled lightly.

"Is there a problem?" Hermione bounced up beside them.

"Ginny, Draco and I are just going home," Harry told her. "Before things –" he ducked – "get ugly."

"Make sure you walk Ginny home like a gentleman, then!"

"Absolutely not," Ginny began –

"Harry darling," Hermione talked over the top of Ginny and the rest of the noise, "Harry, the Knight Bus is out, and they've run out of floo. You'll have to drive home, I drove over here but forgot I was the designated driver. I'm sorry!"

"Hermione, how could you forget?"

"Oh, Seamus plied me with firewhiskey, the stupid git. I'm sorry. I really don't want to leave the car here overnight. Be a sweetie," Hermione said.

"Oooh, she called you sweetie," Dean sniggered on the way past.

"You're lucky I was planning to Apparate anyway, so I didn't drink much," Harry sighed. "I'll walk Ginny home first – oh, Draco, how're you getting home?"

"Apparating?" Draco said, without much hope in his voice. "I've only had three."

"Three _pitchers_!" Hermione laughed uproariously. "Just take them to our place, Harry, let them crash there. We've got the two spare bedrooms. Oh, hullo, here comes Luna with my Sex in a Cauldron!" Hermione danced away, grabbing a lurid green drink from Luna and downing it.

"They've started the cocktail stage," moaned Harry. "I knew they shouldn't have coincided Cocktail Madness with quiz night!"

Draco was pale.

"I feel ill."

"If you have to throw up, here's Seamus' hat."

"Harry!" Ginny laughed, half-heartedly trying to swipe it away.

"Alright, many apologies. Shall we go?"

"What, walk me home?" Ginny asked, but she thought of Hermione's suggestion and suddenly, she wanted to be with people. Her quiet world could wait. She loved her friends' house, and although she never told them, she never, ever had to have a Sleeping Draught whilst she stayed there.

"I think Hermione's got an idea there, I'll just drive you both over to mine."

"I can go home," Draco said quickly.

"Don't be stupid, I'm not driving you to bloody Weirwold at one in the morning," Harry said, and that seemed to settle all arguments as they got into his car. Draco looked apprehensively at it and Ginny wondered if he had ever travelled in a car before. However, the look that Harry gave him told her that there was something else going on.

Draco had chivalrously gotten into the backseat and Ginny took the front, talking to Harry as he steered. Draco looked at him in wonder.

"You really know what you're doing," he said, as Harry twisted his head round to reverse out, and smoothly changed gear. He looked taken aback at the statement.

"I suppose. I have been driving for about four years now, Draco."

"I know," Draco said softly, as they cruised the streets to Harry, Hermione and Ron's place.

"Shouldn't we have given the others a lift?" worried Ginny, but Harry brushed her off with a crooked smile.

"They always sort themselves out, Ginny." He pulled up into the driveway and parked; they fumbled through the little garden gate and through to the back porch.

"Keys, keys," mumbled Harry. Finally producing them, he fumbled in the dark, unlocking the door and tripped over a meowing Crookshanks and several pairs of shoes. Ginny leaned over and flicked the switch; the room was instantly bathed in a warm glow.

"Tea or coffee?" Harry offered, shrugging off his coat.

"I think I'll take a tea. Draco?"

"Just some water would be nice," Draco said, hovering near the door still.

"Okay. Take off your jacket – dump your shoes wherever," Harry directed, as Ginny got out a glass and filled it, handing it to him. "Merlin, I'm starved. Where's the biscuit tin?"

"Be careful, Hermione had some Canary Creams last time," Ginny laughed, putting the kettle on and leaning down to light the fire.

"Leave that to me, Ginny, you can go biscuit-hunting."

It was awkward, Ginny thought, but not awkward as she thought it should be. She thought Draco and Harry would be giving each other self-conscious looks, but instead here was Harry, cheerfully lighting a fire, and her, fixing some tea and chatting away, and Draco, looking bewildered, by the door. As Ginny and Harry chatted, he simply looked around, a strange expression on his face. Presently, he quietly asked where the bathroom was.

"Just go through that door, turn left, and it's opposite the stairwell," Ginny directed, and as soon as Draco was out of the room, she placed her cup down.

"Harry...Draco hasn't been here before, has he?"

"No." Harry looked at her, startled. He was already leaning back against the couch, the fire beginning to glow brightly.

"I think he's a little...hurt," Ginny said tentatively.

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned, a crease appearing on his brow. She handed him a cup of tea and curled up opposite him.

"Well...I mean, you guys have had this place for almost a year," Ginny said. "And...I mean, he comes home with you for the first time, and here I am, one of your friends...I mean," she tried to translate everything she was thinking into comprehensible words, "I mean, I walk in and shove my shoes off and put the kettle on and raid the pantry. It's obvious that I've been over here a lot, so much so that I'm practically a member of the house myself," Ginny said. Harry looked at her, still bewildered.

"So," Ginny said, "I think he might be feeling a little left out, and a little shaken to realise that he's never been over here, yet everyone else seems to."

"Yes, but –"

"Oh, Harry. Let's not pretend here. Your boyfriend hasn't been over to your house, ever, whereas one of your ex-girlfriends can wander in here and treat it like a second home. Do you see?"

There was a long since; the fire flickered, and long shadows were cast across Harry's face, so that she could not make out his expression.

"You know?"

"Yes."

"Does...does Hermione know?"

"Yes."

"What about Ron?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Dean?"

"Yes," Ginny replied.

"Blaise?"

"Well...er...no."

"A-_ha!_"

Ginny looked at him briefly and burst out laughing. After a moment, a grudging smile stole across Harry's face.

"Alright, but please don't let on to Draco. He'd be mortified."

"Oh, really? I might just slip it into conversation –" Ginny teased.

"You wouldn't dare! _Ginny_!" hissed Harry.

At that moment, they heard footsteps. Ginny leapt up from the couch and immediately fell over the coffee table. Harry tried to help her up but collapsed into nervous laughter. It's a universal fact that when two people are talking about a large secret, and the large secret walks in, the two people will immediately get the urge to giggle nervously, go bright red and nudge each other.

"Have I interrupted something?" Draco said coolly, as Harry's face burned and Ginny tried to suppress an enormous grin.

"No," Harry said.

"I'm ready for bed," Draco said softly, refusing to look at either of them. "If you could just show me the way to one of the spare bedrooms...."

"No," Harry said offhandedly. Draco and Ginny stared. "No, I think we should all sleep out in my room."

"Yes!" Ginny said delightedly. She was about to describe the beautiful views over the garden to Draco when she wisely decided to check herself, and let him discover the beautiful views for himself.

"This way," Harry said, taking both Draco and Ginny by the hand and squishing them together in the staircase.

"What's that?" Draco jumped as something wet brushed his ankle.

"That's just Crookshanks, it's alright, he's not allowed in my room," Harry said, as he pushed the two through the doorway and flicked the light switch. Draco looked around.

"It's small."

"Be nice," Harry admonished him.

"No, I mean...it's perfect," Draco said, smiling.

"Well, let's get the beds sorted. There's a spare mattress under Ron's bed," Harry said, going into Ron's room and appearing a few moments later, a mattress hovering in front of him. He tucked his wand away, letting the mattress drop, then sending Draco on a linen mission.

When the mattress on the floor was finally made up, Ginny settled on it happily, reaching for a book. "Well, Draco, I'm going to be rude and claim the mattress. I certainly would not recommend sleeping on Harry's couch, it's tiny. You'll just have to share with Harry," she said.

"I most certainly am not," Draco said, putting up a spirited fight, but in the end he let Ginny have the mattress, and lazed on Harry's bed, trying hard to look displeased. Harry lay next to him, on his stomach, his face propped up on his hands. He'd placed the bed directly under the window, and on hot summer nights he occasionally rested his pillow on the window sill and slept, his hair tousled in the breeze, the moonlight fresh on his face.

He did this now, propping his pillow on the sill. Ginny switched off the light and turned to face the wall, smiling as ghostly blue moonlight filled the room, flitting across Harry's desk, littered with old postcards and ancient birthday cards. She rolled over sleepily, glimpsing Draco and Harry's heads resting lightly against each others' as they gazed out into the night sky.

"I really like your house, Harry," Draco whispered.

"It's not mine, it's Hermione and Ron's too."

"Yes, but it's like you," Draco murmured.

"What, big and square?"

Draco laughed sleepily. "No. I mean...it's nice...it's – it's..."

"Mmm," Harry mumbled, his eyes closed as moonlight played across his face. "Goodnight...."

"Night, Harry," Draco murmured.

"Night, you two," Ginny called, smiling and leaning back into the comfortable arms of sleep.

_

* * *

_

Ginny liked other people being happy.

Oh, she wasn't one of those girls, not like Lavender, wanting to match people up and give them spectacular makeovers to land them sexy new partners. No, quite the opposite really. Ginny thought love didn't necessitate happiness. Moments made happiness, and when you remembered them later, you became happy. You might say, for example, that being with your friends is happiness. But if you really thought about it, happiness was that day that your friends took you to the park and had a picnic, and the wind was whipping everyone's hair and everyone raced to the swings as though they were children again, and you swung so high you thought the clouds would swallow you.

That was happiness, and that memory was happiness. That moment was happiness, when you thought your heart would shatter with joy and energy and love.

You could tell when these moments were about to happen. The sudden rush of emotion, the feeling you could never put into words.

Like now, when Ginny woke up alone, the sun warm in her hair, Harry's bed empty, and the smell of something delicious floating up the stairs.

She had borrowed an old shirt from Harry, as pyjamas; she now quickly jammed yesterday's clothes on, tumbling down the stairs and pausing at the kitchen door to take in the scene. Harry was expertly flipping pancakes. Hermione and Draco were at the island counter, sipping at hot chocolates and watching Harry happily.

"Isn't he marvellous?" Hermione asked Draco. "Nobody makes pancakes as light as Harry's."

"That's because I'm the only one who makes them round here," Harry retorted, and they laughed, turning to greet Ginny as she wandered to the fridge.

"Where's the orange juice?"

"Ron is yet to replace it," sighed Hermione, turning as the kitchen door opened and a fuzzy-eyed, tangle-haired Ron inched in, nervously.

"Morning," Draco greeted him.

"Please shut up," Ron said without malice, gingerly sitting at the kitchen table. "If I make the wrong move, I think my head will explode." He looked at Harry with tragic, bloodshot eyes. "I don't know why they call them girly drinks. Cocktails pack a punch!"

"I told you they weren't like butterbeer," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"They tasted like cordial," Ron said. "Anything that tastes that sugary can't be that lethal." He winced. "I think that last one was a mistake."

"I told you not to have that eleventh one," sighed Hermione, pushing a plate of pancakes towards him.

"Eleven cocktails." Draco tried not to be impressed.

"Yeah, yeah. Last fucking time they coincide cocktail and quiz nights," Ron snapped, but his mood was lulled by pancakes and friends. "I forgot Ginny and Draco stayed over," he said. "Both the guest rooms were empty when I went past them."

"We slept up in Harry's room," Ginny said cheerfully. "Draco had to see the garden views."

"Oh, I'm sorry about all the noise then, last night," Ron said. He had made rather a racket getting up the stairs and into bed.

"Oh, was that you? I thought it was an elephant with Tourettes falling down the stairs," Harry remarked, raiding the fridge. "Where's the orange juice?"

"I polished it off yesterday," Ron said unabashedly.

"Thanks, Ron."

"My pleasure."

"Is he always like this after a night out?" Draco wondered aloud.

"Yes," Hermione said. "He gets moody. Sits in a room by himself with all the curtains closed, eating junk food until he feels better."

"That doesn't make any sense," Draco said.

"No, trust me, all I need is a kilo of chips from the corner shop and some Chocolate Frogs. Then I am ready for the world!" Ron said heroically; Harry laughed and punched him. A brief tussle ensued and Ginny broke them up with a curt 'are you twenty-two or twelve?'

"Oh, let them have their fun," Hermione said. "They'll be in trouble later. You boys should be getting ready for work! It's my rostered day off." Hermione was unbearably smug.

"I'm throwing a sickie," Ron said.

"Just like that?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. George'll manage without me. He knows he owes us anyway, he keeps sending bloody Blaise in on quiz nights, the tosser."

"I'll join you, I think," Harry said.

"Harry, you hardly ever take a day off," Draco pointed out. "You know your boss won't be happy."

"She'll be quite sympathetic, actually, when I tell her I'm suffering from spattergroit," Harry said.

"You'll need a doctor's certificate," Draco said disbelievingly. Harry strode over to the fireplace, threw some powder in, and poked his head in.

"Pansy...." He waited patiently in the fire, until Pansy's voice floated out.

"Sod off, I've got a rotten headache Harry, and my left toe has turned into a zucchini."

"Come on, Pansy, just scribble something in."

"No way, you should have stopped me and George having a pool game last night, you idiot!"

"We tried, but you know how determined you get when you've been drinking scotch," Harry said soothingly and within a few moments, he had stuck his hand into the flames, then emerged triumphantly waving a handful of certificates around.

"I must admit, it comes in handy having Slytherin friends," Hermione said, smiling.

"Why on earth have you got so many?"

"One for me, one for Ginny, one for Draco..."

"What, I don't get one?" Ron said indignantly.

"George would laugh and throw it in the bin," Harry said wryly.

"I think I should really go to work," Draco said.

"Draco, it's already half-eight, you're wearing last nights' clothes, complete with firewhiskey scent, and you look terrible," Hermione said. "Another pancake?"

"That was harsh," Harry said, flipping a pancake with his wand; he turned and bowed to applause. "But, nevertheless, true."

"I'll Apparate home, anyway," Draco said.

"Stay a little longer," Ginny said, quietly. Hermione, Ron and Harry glanced at her.

"Yes, stay," Hermione said suddenly.

"I wouldn't want to intrude –"

"Draco, honestly, our house is yours. Whenever you feel like it, or need it, just come straight over," Hermione said earnestly.

"Yeah, you've hardly been here. We feel insulted," Ron laughed.

Draco stared at them, apparently unable to think of anything to say.

"I suppose I thought I wouldn't be welcome," he said truthfully.

"Don't be stupid," Ron said, sounding amazed.

"Not welcome?" Harry echoed.

"But you and Harry have been together for ages," Hermione said unthinkingly. "Why wouldn't you be welcome in his house?"

Draco stared at her. There was a fragile silence which was shattered by Ron's voice –

"_Hermione!_"

"What? I –" She stopped, raising her hand to her mouth in horror. Draco looked round at them all, his lips moving silently, connecting everything.

"You all know?"

"Yes," Hermione said miserably.

"Even Ginny?"

Ginny looked up at him briefly. The expression on her face confirmed his fears.

"What about Dean, Seamus?"

"Yes. All the Gryffindors."

"Even Neville?"

"Yes."

Draco paused. "Even Pansy?"

"Yes."

"Blaise?"

"No."

"Thank fucking Merlin," Draco said, relief rushing into his voice. Ginny suddenly started laughing, just to break the tension and the others joined in after a beat.

"And when did you all find out?" Draco said, collapsing onto the couch and looking despairing.

"Ron accidentally let slip to us a year ago," Hermione said meanly. Ron glared.

"And when did you find out?" Draco seemed unable to look at Ron.

"Er...two months before our graduation," Ron said.

Draco and Harry stared in amazement. "But...we only got together one month before graduation!"

"I could see it coming," Ron said, looking suddenly so much more an adult than the boy Ginny thought he was.

There was a long silence.

"Well, I have to say everybody's taken it remarkably well," Harry said.

"Oh, we've had two years to get over it," Ginny said, and suddenly everybody was laughing, laughing until they nearly cried. Harry simply smiled lopsidedly at Ron.

"You've come a long way," Ginny overheard him saying quietly to Ron, whilst Hermione took Draco on a tour of the house.

"I think the Battle gave me my emotional growth spurt," Ron replied.

_

* * *

_

They spent the day lazing, which was what they did best. Humans should be like cats, Ginny thought. Sleep, eat, and spend all day curled in the sun, dreaming. That was the life.

They were out in the garden; Ron was dutifully cleaning the barbecue as slowly and languidly as possible, Hermione was in the grass reading a book, Harry had impaled a leaf on the end of a long twig and was teasing Crookshanks with it. Draco was in the shade of the patio, watching the antics of two sparrows. Ginny sat nearby him, methodically shredding a leaf.

"Do you think things will change now?" she asked him, meaning his and Harry's relationship. He half-turned his head, still gazing at the birds.

"Oh, yes." He paused. "Well, no, actually." He didn't explain further. Ginny realised that Harry and Draco's relationship was something private, and always would be, no matter how many knew of it. It was like a long-ago memory that sometimes whispered through her mind late at night, bringing her a vague comfort and warmth. A certain day perhaps, a certain moment, that she didn't want to share with anyone else, because it was precious and it was hers, and telling someone about it would somehow only spoil it.

"Are you still in love with him?"

The question was simple. Draco asked this question as he watched Harry get clawed by Crookshanks. Ginny also followed the cat's movements, shading her eyes.

"Oh, Draco. I don't love Harry anymore." It was true. She thought she had, and then, suddenly, she thought that if he broke up with her, her life wouldn't end. She'd be completely devastated of course, but she would survive. And then later, she thought she actually wouldn't be that devastated. She'd cry for a week or so, and move on. And then one day she woke up and realised she _had_ moved on, and by then it was clear Harry's heart belonged to another, someone who truly wanted it. Falling in love was passionate and easy and dizzying, and falling out of love was gentle and silent, like the way the sun would set sometimes, amongst grey clouds, without dazzle or drama, slowly sinking away.

Ginny looked across at her friends, and wished Dennis was there, right now, to capture the moment. She turned impulsively to Draco.

"Don't you ever wish for yesterday?"

He plucked a daisy, raising it to his face, twirling it gently, watching its petals float to the ground, giving the question due thought.

"No," he said, his voice honest and clear. "I'm too busy looking towards tomorrow."

He turned to look at her but the sun blotted her out, a bright dazzle on his horizon.


	8. Chapter 7

The day ended, as Ginny knew it must. But the day had smelt like summer and memories and Ginny wanted to stay, stay forever. Although she knew she was 'always welcome', Hermione and Ron had wandered off and Harry had left to drive Draco home. Harry drove everybody everywhere. They all wanted a go in Harry's car, although a few of them had enjoyed the luxuries of the Ministry cars. The ministry cars, with their unseen drivers, their sleek, black lines and closed-off feel felt very different from Harry's old Camry. He'd roll down the windows and speed along, playing his music loudly as any twenty-year-old would, and they loved it. There was nothing better than riding in Harry's car, their faces out the window, laughing into the wind and watching the scenery whip past. Harry went for long drives, sometimes, just by himself, riding out past the town, through the green pastures and fields, just driving into the horizon, headed anywhere.

Ginny waved Draco and Harry off. Draco's place was at least a two-hour drive away, something that Ginny knew Harry would secretly relish (despite complaining loudly about petrol prices.)

And then dusk had began to settle in, and Ron had retreated to bed to nurse his hangover into its final stages. Hermione was starting to wind down, coming down with a headache and lying on the couch with a cold facecloth over her forehead and watching _Dr Who_ re-runs. Ginny was in the kitchen, alone in the dark. Somebody – probably Harry – had left the wireless on, playing classical music. Ginny sat in the dark, on the couch, the fire glowing, listening to Shrivlefig's Eleventh Symphony (The Quiet Thestrals) and running over memories in her mind.

"Ginny? Are you still here?" Hermione came in, clutching at her head and rummaging through the small medicine cupboard nearby. "If Ron's polished off the last of my Anti-Ache Serum, I'll kill him."

"Yes, still here, but I think I best be off," Ginny said quietly, gathering her jumper and shooting a quick Scourgify spell at it. A wave of cat hairs fell off.

"Alright. Are you right to get home? We haven't got any floo powder left."

"I'll just apparate," Ginny said.

"Alright, I'll see you round," Hermione said absently, holding her head and uncorking a small vial. She returned to the lounge room, and Ginny quietly made her way out the backdoor, past a pile of shoes, Crookshanks, somebody's cloak and a Fanged Frisbee.

Hermione had extended the anti-Apparation wards all the way to the front gate. Thus, Ginny walked down the path to the front gate, opening it carefully and stepping out onto the pavement, latching the gate behind her and gazing up at her second home for a moment. A light was on in Ron's room – a low glow, no doubt providing enough light to read old Quidditch Weeklys by, but not enough to antagonise his bloodshot eyes. Harry's room was out of sight, tucked behind Ron's and facing out into the back garden, but no doubt his window would be open (it always was, even in the heart of winter), and his lights off, awaiting for his return. Ginny wondered if he would tidy away Ginny's mattress, smooth the rumpled covers and the hollow in the pillow where Draco's head had rested – or whether he would leave them, a lingering and lovely memory.

The lounge, on the lower storey and facing the street, had a soft blue glow. It was lit by nothing except the television. Hermione would be in there now, lying on the couch again with her facecloth again, where she would probably stay until bedtime. The kitchen was round the back of the house, but Ginny knew it would be emitting a light of some sort. The kitchen light was rarely off, but when it was, the fire always glowed softly into the night.

Ron's silhouette appeared briefly. He drew his curtains closed so that only a hairline crack of light appeared, where the curtains met. The house was settling in for bed as dusk rose to greet the night.

Ginny turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

_

* * *

_

Later on, Ginny lay awake in her flat.

She was in her room. Her room had floorboards, although Ginny had a rug near the bed, for warmth in the toe-curlingly cold winters. She had placed her bed directly under the window, so that sometimes, if she tilted her head back far enough, all she could see was stars. She liked that view, she liked to fill her world with the soft night sky and all its beautiful beacons. She liked stars. Oh, she knew they were just lumps of rock and ice, frozen and glittering in space, but it wasn't about what they were. It was about what they stood for, and, romanticised through the generations, they stood for everything that made humans human. Dreams, and thoughts and stories. That's what the stars were.

In one corner of her room was a chest of drawers and on the back of the door, a brass hook held her best cloak and some robes. And that was it, apart from the corkboard. That had been inspired by what Hermione had told her she had seen on Luna's bedroom ceiling. Ginny had wanted something like that too, a reminder of all those in her life, and she in theirs.

It had letters pinned to it, and postcards, and birthday and Christmas cards. Some photos she had taken, photographs Dennis had given her too. Her official graduation portrait. CLASS OF 1998 (GRYFFINDOR HOUSE) was written in fading letters; above it, smudged face smiled and winked, laughed and nudged each other. But so few, thought Ginny. So few faces. That gap there, that was where Colin Creevey should have been. Victoria Frobisher with her beautiful chestnut hair, where was she? Geoffrey Hooper, who in third year had a crush on her, liked to sit behind her in class and dip her plait in his inkwell – where was his face? The class clown, they told him. At graduation, you'll be the one to push everyone over and muck up the photo.

But he wasn't at graduation. He was six feet under cold earth, with an Avada Kedavra straight through his left eye, through his brain, an instant, amazingly precise murder.

Ginny sometimes wondered how people like Harry were still sane. His year had lost many more, and he himself had suffered the loss of his parents, his godfather, his father's best friend and his wife, and perhaps the closest thing he had to a father figure, in Dumbledore.

But it wasn't in what he had lost, it was what he had still. And he had Hermione and Ron, and he had Draco. And he had a beautiful house and a beautiful life, and he had comfort every time he walked down the street and saw a Muggleborn lift their head and smile at him, and that's what kept him sane. Not the martyr thing, Merlin no, but the fact that he knew no more injustices would happen.

Ginny liked that thought too, the thought that children would grow up and not know murder. Her generation had sacrificed their youth for them.

Ginny sighed and kicked away the covers. She would not sleep tonight. Harry's curtains had been so thin, and the moonlight had streamed through them, illuminating the room. Draco's soft, slow breathing, Harry shifting in his sleep. Her room in comparison seemed deathly silent, dark, empty and so simple! Harry's room was a comfortable, glorious mess. Friends visited so often that they left things behind all the time and never bothered with collecting them, saying they'd always pick them up next time they dropped in. His room was littered with mementos. Pansy's medical books, a cloak of George's, empty butterbeer bottles, Hermione's hairbrush, Ron's old shoes, a set of robes with 'Property of N. Longbottom' sewn carefully into the hem; a cork necklace courtesy of Luna, a Quidditch banner Seamus had left behind, old studio portfolios Dean had forgotten, and an assortment of things nobody could remember owning, such as rusty bobby pins, scraps of parchment, a box of expired floo powder, broken items from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and odd socks everywhere.

It made Ginny's little room seem overwhelmingly plain by comparison; her polished floorboards with not a thing on them, her neat wardrobe. Ginny wondered what made people central, like Hermione and Ron and Harry. Seamus had his own place, and Dean shared a place with Neville. Lavender had a beautiful house, and Luna a strange little place by the beautiful river Richmond. Why was it though, that everybody flocked to Harry, Hermione and Ron's house? Everybody said it was because the house was gorgeous, it had great views, good set-up for get-togethers, always warm...but it was really the owners. All three of them, burning bright as flames, and she found yourself wanting to reach out and touch them to see if the warmth was real, to share it with them. She knew it was the closest she could ever get, because she'd never find it herself. Ginny strove for that contentedness, that wholeness that they encompassed, but sometimes it seemed impossible. Being with Hermione, Ron and Harry was the closest she could get.

She got out of bed. She would not sleep tonight.

_

* * *

_

"I believe summer is coming," Ollivander said softly, looking out at the blue sky; the frosty and moody spring weather had turned up an unexpectedly beautiful day. "Although the cold still remains, in my bones. This summer will hold no warmth for me."

"How do you know?" Ginny asked, gently sanding a beautiful mahogany wand, the first she had crafted entirely by herself (although Ollivander had supplied a running commentary the whole time, catching her before she made mistakes and making gentle suggestions.)

"I have had enough," Ollivander said quietly. "I am an old man. I believe this summer will be my last."

There was silence; outside, the birds sung, the sparrows hopping amongst the cobblestones. The sky was cloudless and beautiful, the first real rays of sun lighting up Diagon Alley.

"Don't be sad for me, Miss Weasley. I am cold and tired. The war has left a chill shadow upon me. Death offers nothing but relief." His thin, knobbly fingers lifted a wand gently, his owlish eyes examining it. "Congratulations, Miss Weasley! A flawless wand from your own hand. Beautiful perfection."

Ginny turned away silently; the sparrows flew away, the birds sang no more.


	9. Chapter 8

"Name this device."

A large picture hovered in the air and the group burst with suggestions.

"I know that, it's a regenerator!" Pansy said excitedly.

"A refrigerator, actually," Hermione said dryly, carefully inking in the answer.

"Well, I was close. I knew it started with an 'r'."

"This is unfair, Muggleborns have an advantage," Hannah Abbot called out from her table.

"Well, you should have taken Muggle Studies then," somebody shot back and a brief argument ensued. The barman quickly broke up any trouble by announcing it was happy hour. New arguments broke out:

"Okay, it's Seamus' turn to take orders."

"I'll have a rocks, hold the scotch."

The table burst into laughter; Seamus looked around murderously, trying to locate the voice. Eventually, he settled on Ron.

"Shut up, Ron!"

"What? It wasn't me, it was bloody George!"

George looked injured: "I am deeply wounded by that false accusation."

"Yeah, Ron, stop trying to blame George for everything."

"What? But he –" Ron was puffed with indignation. Somebody laughed and pelted him with a peanut.

"_No peanut fights_!" Harry said firmly, as Ron grabbed a handful of peanuts himself. "Food is not to be used as ammunition, remember?"

"Yeah, it's a tragic waste," Theo snapped.

"And Pansy's allergic. Remember what happened last time she got hit on the nose?" Hermione said responsibly.

"Yeah, didn't her nose swell up to the size of a balloon?"

The table rang with laughter – "Fuck off," Pansy retaliated morosely, gloomily staring at her empty glass.

"Where are your manners?" teased Theo.

"Up your arse. Someone pass the butterbeer."

"Hullo!" Lavender fumbled her way over, waving and beaming around.

"Lavender! You're twenty minutes late!"

"I know, my parents visited unexpectedly, to say happy birthday."

"It's your birthday?"

"Dean must've known, why didn't you say anything!" Hermione berated Dean. He just grinned.

"Well, it's no big deal," Lavender shrugged, but there was a sudden surge as everybody tried to rush to the bar to shout her a drink. Whilst various beers and shots were placed in front of her, Luna straggled in behind everyone, and proudly dumped a bottle of wine in front of Lavender.

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Luna wins, I think."

"Hands down, I'd say."

"That wine's not half-bad, either. Be a sport, Lavender, share it round!"

"Cheers to Lavender, on her twentieth birthday!"

"Cheers!"

"This calls for serious drinking, my friends," Dean said, getting up on his chair and raising his glass, as a blushing Lavender began pouring wine into some unused highballs.

"A toast to Lavender and her generosity!"

"Pour us a glass, Lavender!"

"Many happy returns!"

They were laughing, the wine was spilling, somebody started singing and Ginny raised her glass, watching it clink against the others', the glass and ice glittering, the richly-coloured wine splashing through the air.

And she forgot for a moment; a radiant and completely involuntary smile flickered across her face, and she thought she was close again, close to the warmth, closer to sunrise instead of sunset, on the right side of midnight.

_

* * *

_

The next Thursday, however, was much more unhappy. Blaise was on patrol, apparently already forgotten the pool cue incident (and the subsequent photographs that were passed around afterwards.)

It was also serving as a sending-off bash for both Luna, whom was going on another work-incited trip (however this time, she would be gone a month), and Lavender and Dean, whom were going on a three-week trip to France.

"It's going to be wonderful." Lavender was thrilled, merrily talking about her French cousins and how she missed them. Dean looked a bit nervous.

"I hope they like me."

"Don't be silly, of course they will. I've owled off pictures, they think you're gorgeous."

"Pictures?" Dean looked slightly ill. "What pictures?"

"The ones my mother took last Christmas, Dean," Lavender said patiently. "Remember? When we were up at Leeds."

"Not those ones! I looked terrible!"

"Don't be silly, you looked cute, especially when you wore those Christmas robes your parents sent you, and that cute little Santa hat –"

"Not _that _one!" Dean gave a strangled cry.

"You know, I wouldn't mind seeing those photos myself," Seamus sniggered, and Dean shot him a look that would have curdled milk.

"Looking forward to your trip, Luna?" Ginny asked quickly, before any mischief could erupt.

"Oh, yes!" Luna said excitedly, and began to discuss the various beasts she hoped to encounter. Pansy poured herself another stiff drink and observed Harry.

"What?" Harry looked at her irritably; he never enjoyed being stared at.

"You're looking pale," Pansy said.

"Oh, no you don't. Put your inner Healer away, Pansy," snapped Harry.

"I was just making an observation."

"Pansy," Harry said warningly. Pansy had the somewhat unfortunate ability to correctly diagnose people, sometimes just by glancing at them as she went past on the street. Whilst this quality made her admired and highly sought at work, her friends loathed this ability. It was very upsetting to be told, just before somebody downed a whiskey, that they looked slightly jaundiced and perhaps their liver needed a check-up – even if it turned out later that she was right. 'I'd rather not know' was the motto of her friends. Whilst Pansy had gotten better at keeping her diagnoses to herself, sometimes she still couldn't help herself.

"Well, just –"

"I don't want to hear it."

" – just take a Pepper-Up potion tonight, and lay off the firewhiskey," Pansy finished.

"Now I feel worse," Harry muttered. "And it's your fault."

"My fault!" Pansy said.

"Yes, now that you've said something, I can't help but think about it, and it makes me feel worse and now my throat feels all scratchy..."

"Well, don't think about it then," Pansy replied unhelpfully.

"Think about having Dragon Pox instead," Blaise grinned, and Pansy rounded on him.

"Oh yes, Blaise? And whilst I'm in Mediwitch mode –"

"So what, I feel perfectly healthy," Blaise said.

"Really? Because I suggest you get a check-up," Pansy said coolly, staring at his nether regions.

"For what?" Blaise demanded, staring at her stupidly.

There was a long silence, wherein everyone began sniggering.

"For what?" he repeated. Pansy cleared her throat loudly; realisation dawned.

"Well, at least I'm getting some," Blaise snapped.

"I didn't know pool cues could pass on sexual diseases," Seamus said, the table roaring with laughter. Blaise just took Luna's bottle of butterbeer and stormed away.

"Well, at least we got rid of him," Ron said cheerfully. "Anyway – a toast to Luna and free work-funded trips!"

"And Dean and Lavender!"

"May they all return safely."

They wound down, growing quiet. Nobody had been drinking particularly heavy, and besides, their numbers were thin (which had given them a lower score than usual): Draco had come down with an unexpected flu at the last moment and owled to say he couldn't make it after all; Hermione was absent, in order to devote her night to working on a presentation she had to give the next morning. Neville was at a relative's birthday celebration, and Theo was filling in for another team. The result was a small straggle of Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lavender, Dean, Luna, Seamus and Pansy. Eight people suddenly seemed too small, compared to the usual raucous crowd of twelve.

Ginny turned instinctively to Luna.

"Doesn't our group seem small?"

"Where I'm going, there'll be nobody," Luna said dreamily.

"That will be lonely." Ginny shivered.

"That will be a change," Luna corrected.

"Doesn't change scare you?" Ginny asked, but Luna merely gave her a vague smile and drifted away.

Change didn't scare Ginny. Being alone did. She wanted to surround herself with people, and never go home.

But she went home this time, walked the long steps to her apartment, amazed and despairing at her own change. Had she not looked upon her apartment as her own little private space? But now she wanted to hold somebody, hold on and never let go. She thought of Harry, Hermione and Ron, their perfect world. She wanted to hold onto them, forever, but the best she could do was ask to stay a while, before drifting back to her own universe.

She counted the stars, trying to recall Astronomy. Cassius there, and there was Andromeda, and Draconis, and Sirius the Dog Star, and Bellatrix.

Why was everybody named after stars? It was the romance again, thought Ginny. They liked to think their children would be like stars, floating above the earth, alone and glittering, perfect jewels, looked up to and wanted by all the people staring wishfully at them below.

But it wasn't like that at all. Andromeda and Sirius had fallen, falling stars, falling away into darkness long before they should. And Draco, he wasn't alone and cold anymore, was he? His star had drifted through space and come to lay with Harry.

Bellatrix, perhaps the worst. She was the literal star. The true star, the real one. A soulless, jagged mess of rock and ice, alone in the darkness, whose fate could only end in death, destroyed by warmth, by the heat of anger.

Ginny liked the fact her family had solid names. Bill, Charlie, George. Strong names, old names that had nothing to do with flowers or stars or anything romantic. She had been told her name meant 'fair one' – a plain meaning, not complex or romantic in any way. She liked it that way. Simple Ginny Weasley, straightforward and practical.

But five months ago, on the eve of winter, a letter had landed on her kitchen counter as she daydreamed, and it made her life so much harder. But in the end, only the people she loves matter, and Ginny had lots of people she loved and wanted to care for, and it was easy to ignore everything when she had so much love in her world.

That night she dreamed about stars.


	10. Chapter 9

It took her ages to get the damn cat in the car. Every time she picked Jem up and put him in the backseat, he mewled loudly and jumped out. Ginny was too frightened of accidentally slamming the door on him to try and close the car door quickly.

"Alright, you brought this upon yourself," Ginny said sternly and with a brief Petrificus Totalus, Jem was stiff as a board and easily placed into the car.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said regretfully, "but I really don't have the time."

He glared at her.

* * *

She drove over to Hermione, Ron and Harry's. Harry and Ron were nowhere in sight, but Hermione was lazing in the back garden, hiding amongst the hydrangeas and reading a book.

"Oh, hullo, Ginny, I – oh!" Hermione leapt up, her book falling away. "What happened to your poor cat!"

"What? Oh." Ginny started laughing and explained as she carried the motionless cat inside. Hermione laughed and removed the spell, the two cat-lovers watching as he sniffed and wandered his way around the kitchen.

"He's a friendly little fellow," Ginny said companionably. "He'll be alright here."

"Of course. Are you sure you don't want to keep him at your apartment?"

Ginny smiled softly, sadly. "He's better off here."

"Well, he'll always be your cat, you know. He's just moved house, that's all."

"Of course." Ginny looked back at the pile of belongings Hermione had cleaned out and packed into a cardboard box. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's all the things people left behind here last summer. I'm just cleaning it out. They always said they'd come back next time to pick them up, but you know," Hermione shrugged. Yes, thought Ginny. Everyone just gradually stopped visiting.

"What happened?" she said aloud. "Everybody was forever in and out..."

"Oh, yes, but we're all busy now, trying to climb up the career ladder," Hermione shrugged. "But we still see everyone at quiz nights."

"I suppose," Ginny murmured. "Where're the boys?"

"Oh, they went off to a Quidditch match," Hermione said. "They'll probably go to the pub afterwards, I won't see them til nine o'clock tonight." She checked her watch. "Anyway, I've got to rush off, I'm afraid. Promised my parents I'd drop in at three, to help clean out the attic and have a cup of tea."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have owled ahead," Ginny said. "I didn't mean to hold you up."

"Oh, no, that's alright. I've really got to run – you're alright to show yourself out," Hermione said, grabbing her purse; she threw a handful of powder in the fire – it flared up green – she jumped in and gave a brief wave before disappearing from sight.

Ginny stood alone in the kitchen. The fire had gone out – Hermione had charmed it so as soon as all of the household members were absent, it automatically doused itself.

Ginny looked around for a moment, taking in the messy kitchen – the fridge with humorous magnets, the cup-rings covering the island counter, the spilt cereal by the stovetop.

"Well," Ginny said. "I suppose this is goodbye, Jem."

She bent low and patted him softly, enjoying the feel of his round, warm little head fitting against her palm; then she quietly went out the back door, clicking it shut gently behind her.

She sighed. She had the urge to run again – only this time not to run away, but to run to catch up. Sometimes it felt like her friends were always just around the corner.

_

* * *

_

Blaise told them he was having a birthday bash, and they were all invited.

"Maybe," Harry said cautiously; Draco was discreetly pulling no-no-no faces at him.

"I'd love to come," Pansy said brightly. If there was a party, Pansy would be there. She was amazing, a non-stop party girl. Sometimes they needed to keep an eye on her though, make sure she didn't Do Anything Stupid, which she tended to do a lot. Hermione politely inquired about gifts. "Just bring me a bottle of good white rum," Blaise said.

"There's no such thing as good white rum," Ron retorted, and a fight quickly ensued, ending with Blaise punching Ron.

"Blaise!"

"It was a girly punch anyway," Ron sneered, rolling up his sleeves.

"Fucking bring it!" Blaise roared. Draco began to get extremely edgy. After the Battle, he seemed particularly eager to avoid violence, to the point of not even reading books with mentions of violence in them. Lavender, too, seemed anxious. Harry glanced around casually, looked quickly at Blaise – and the next moment, Blaise was lolling, apparently unconscious, in his chair.

"What happened!" Hermione jumped away from him as though he was contagious. However, after a moment, she looked suspiciously at Harry.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Harry said. "It was only a little Stunning spell. He shouldn't try to pick fights with Ron anyway."

"An under-the-table Stunning spell. Very moral of you, Harry," Hermione said dryly, but didn't seem to particularly mind.

"I could've taken him on," snapped Ron. "And won."

"Don't be so sure," Pansy advised. "He's starting to get muscles, with all his lifesaver practice."

"I have faith in you, Ron," Harry said loyally. Ron grinned and went off to shout him a drink.

"Numbers are down tonight," Hermione remarked. "Only seven. Seamus did say he was coming, but I suppose he got caught up in something last-minute."

Ginny was certain that before long there would be six, and then five, and then quiz nights would drift away and become part of their past, something to reminisce about.

"Are you alright, Ginny?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I was wondering if I could come round this weekend, do some scrapbooking..."

"If you'd like," Ron said ambivalently. "Harry's going off to see a Quidditch match –"

"And I suppose you're going along?" Hermione asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's meeting Draco there, and I don't want to end up in a threesome –"

"_Ron_!"

Harry looked as though he was going to vomit into his glass. Draco looked as though if the Grim Reaper appeared right then and there, he'd dive at him screaming 'Kill me now, for the love of Merlin!'

True to Ginny's thoughts, Draco stumbled away.

"I'm going to go find a hole to die in."

"Right behind you," Harry said, looking green as he followed Draco into the cloakroom: two distant _pop_s marked their departure.

"Good one, Ron," snapped Pansy.

"What?"

"You're completely disgusting," Hermione said. "And now we can't do round three, our numbers are too low. We've only got four people now."

"Five, counting Blaise."

"He's unconscious, and he can stay that way. I'm going home." Hermione snatched up her purse and stormed towards the cloakroom. Pansy yawned.

"No point staying here, then. I'm off to a party in Bristol. Want to come?"

"No, thanks," Ron said dryly. They both departed, Ron to the fireplace to floo, and Pansy out onto the street.

Ginny sighed, sitting at the table by herself, surrounded by empty glasses and empty seats.

* * *

It was three weeks later when it happened.

Ginny was out in the back rooms, gently sanding a beautiful chestnut wand. There was an old and dusty wireless radio by the small window. The sunlight streamed through its panes as crackly music played.

"_You're my cheering charm, you're my love potion..._" Ginny paused in her work to roll up her robe sleeves and turn the little latch on the window, slowly and creakily pulling it open to let in a spring breeze. It picked up the wood shavings, dancing in the stream of sun, over her head and around the room, filling her world with the beautiful smell of sawdust and wood polish. She smiled for a moment, watching the golden curls of wood playing around her, and looked down at the wand, perfect in its finished beauty. She picked it up gently, giving it a soft wave, and green leaves spilled from it, joining the sawdust, weaving around her. She almost laughed, strangely, inexplicably happy, turning and walking into the main shop.

"Mr Ollivander, I think summer's finally here," she said quietly. There was silence.

"Mr Ollivander?"

* * *

"What are you going to do?" Hermione whispered, holding a cup of tea closely. Ginny had just arrived back from Mr Ollivander's cremation by Shell Cottage. Late spring rain had softened the ground and Ginny had mud and clay halfway up her formal robes.

"I don't know."

They sat there, not speaking for a moment, steaming cups of tea before them.

"It must have been awful," Hermione said. "You're taking it really well, though."

Ginny looked up at her, a smile chasing across her lips. She had not cried at all. Not yet.

"I'm happy."

"Happy?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Yes. I like to think that he's gone on to an eternal summer," Ginny said dreamily. "That's what I'd like. An eternal summer, to warm my bones forever."

Hermione lay her head on her arm and began to cry softly. Ginny put her arm around her.

"Don't cry, Hermione, he's happy," she said, but Hermione either could not or would not hear her.

_

* * *

_

Things fall apart.

A basic fact of life. People, lives, hearts. Ginny knew this. The Battle had taught it to her. The Battle had taught her many things. When she's running, never look back. If she sees a nearby flash of light, drop to the ground. Doesn't matter where it's aimed or who it is aimed at. Just hit the ground.

It taught her that she'd always have strength, too. When she's lying there with a Crucio spell on her and she's ready to curl up and die, and a Death-Eater raises their wand to finish her off, she suddenly finds that she's not quite ready to die after all, and somehow she manages to actually jump up and start duelling. There's no time for cowardice in war, no time for thinking, no time for decisions. And most of all, people never die when they want to. Somebody else decides when you die, and where.

But the war also taught Ginny that things fall apart, and it's no use trying to hold onto them. When someone's fighting side by side with somebody and they die, step over their dead body and keep duelling, either to death or freedom. People can't stop and try to put everything back together. Things fall apart, and all they can do is watch.

That's what gave Ginny the calmness, the softness, when she found Ollivander, dying on the shop floor. If he was going to die then he would die, and that was it. He willingly fell apart, dissolved back into the sky, faded into summer, and she simply watched, and that was alright.

* * *

He left her the shop and everything in it, and he also left her his meager savings. Ginny advertised for a wandmaker: _Must be willing to teach first-year apprentice._

"Good luck with that, wandmakers are far and few between," Ron said.

"Ron! Don't be so negative," Hermione scolded him.

"It's alright, I know they're hard to find," Ginny said. "But I'll still try."

* * *

"Ginny, I just thought I'd Apparate here to remind you that there's no more quiz nights."

"Oh," Ginny said. She wrapped her robes around herself. She was standing just outside her apartment door. Hermione and Harry had declined to enter, saying they were dashing off somewhere.

"Numbers are just dropping, you know how it is. Ron has the attention span of a gnat," Hermione went on. "But feel free to visit us any time. See you later."

"See you later," Ginny repeated softly, and a moment later they were gone.

She sighed and went back inside.

"Well, Jem, we're on our own," she said. Then she remembered she had given him away. He was Hermione's now.

Things fall apart.


	11. Chapter 10

Weeks later, Ginny had finally found a wandmaker: Phyllis Gregorovitch, daughter of the famed wandmaker.

"This is strange," Phyllis said, walking into the dusty shop and smiling. "Normally I would seek an apprentice but this time, the apprentice seeks me!"

"Yes," Ginny said, looking down. "Yes, I was originally undergoing an apprenticeship with Mr Ollivander..."

"Of course, yes. I am sorry for your loss." Empty words. Ginny rather thought of it as gain. Ollivander had gained peace, she had gained a wandmaker, and Phyllis had gained employment.

"I suppose," Ginny said, deciding not to voice her thoughts, "that you would like to know what I know and what I don't know. Ollivander taught me a lot regarding the storage of wood, unicorn hair, phoenix feather and so forth..."

Ginny spent the rest of the morning going over her past knowledge with Phyllis and by lunchtime, she thought things were going well. Phyllis was pleasant enough and seemed patient, and Ginny thought they would get along alright.

She popped into George's shop to say hello, feeling slightly guilty. It had been some time since she had seen him.

"Hi George, on lunch break?"

"Not til two. Pass us that box, Ginny."

Ginny obediently passed up a box on her left; George, teetering dangerously on a stepladder, began making room for it in the impossibly small storeroom.

"How's Ron?"

"Round here somewhere, the useless bludger," George said, although Ginny could tell he meant it affectionately. "I thought you saw him more often than _I_ do, anyway, in and out of his house like a yo-yo."

"I haven't been over there for ages," Ginny said. "They're always busy."

"Yeah, now Quidditch season's winding to a close. You can say goodbye to Ron and Harry once the semi-finals are here," George said. "Pass up that tape, Ginny."

She passed it up, duly, and said her farewell, retreating to Florean Fortescue's for an ice-cream and to think for a while.

_

* * *

_

That night, Ginny lay on her bed and closed her eyes and let the memories take over. It had been at least a month since she'd seen anybody. How strange it was, how suddenly the ties fell away, how suddenly things fell apart. She walked alone these days and it felt strange.

She saw them at the Ministry, saw them at the Battle. She saw them duelling for their lives, she saw them running and laughing through the grounds, she saw them by the lake, she saw them studying in the library. Her friends, every moment, every memory unstained and pure, and she wanted to lock the memories away, keep them safe and cherished. The scrapbook, the closest she could get to making the memories solid, something she could actually look at and touch.

She wanted all her yesterdays back, but that was impossible.

Summer was well and truly here – nearly gone, and what had she done? For some reason she thought summer would bring it all back, all the beautiful smiles and lazy joy, the sun and sea and happiness. But there had been nothing. She went to work, she came home. She sat and thought of her friends, what they were doing, if they were okay.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel the darkness in her heart, the growing shadows, the spreading cold. Yet tonight it felt worse than ever.

She lit her little woodstove and managed to gingerly push her head through the flames, calling out. The residential healer would know.

"Pansy? Pansy?"

"Oh!" Pansy, making a cup of tea nearby, nearly dropped it. "Oh, it's you. Hi, Ginny. Everything alright?"

"Yes," Ginny said. "Except I feel awful."

"As in, a cold?" Pansy asked hopefully, clearing wanting it to be something easily fixable with a simple Pepper-Up.

"No, as in...cold," Ginny said. "I feel cold. I feel a darkness."

"I get that sometimes," Pansy said. "Go out and party until you forget everything."

Ginny frowned. "You're stumbling. Are you drunk?"

"Maybe. I was about to have a cup of Sobriety-Spiked coffee, but you interrupted."

"Oh, Pansy."

"I know, I know. Look, in two weeks, it'll be gone."

"Why two weeks?"

"Because that's the end of summer."

"What? Pansy!" Ginny exclaimed, recoiling as Pansy nearly fell on her. "Watch out! How much have you had to drink?"

"Lots," Pansy said happily, rolling over on the floor. A moment later Ginny heard soft snores. She sighed.

"Oh, Pansy. What's going to happen to you?"

Two weeks til the end of summer. Ginny wasn't going to waste that.

She wanted it, wanted that old feeling back, of warmth and happiness.

* * *

She managed to grab five minutes with Hermione. She did some careful calculations and managed to catch Hermione at home, by herself.

She opened the unlocked back door quietly. Hermione was by the kitchen counter, making either tomato soup or an Anti-Moodiness Serum, she couldn't tell.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, Ginny. How're you?"

"I – I miss you. Everyone."

"Oh." Hermione held up a spoonful of basil, making sure it was level. "Well, we're always here for you, and –"

"Do you remember when you said you thought we had one last summer in us?" Ginny asked. "What happened to it?"

Hermione finally paused in her cooking, frowning. "I...don't know. I suppose everyone was busy and I forgot to organise anything..."

"Well, there's two weeks left," Ginny said quietly. "I think we can still reclaim our summer." She paused. "I want one last summer with my friends. That's all. Before we fall apart."

"Fall apart?" Hermione asked softly.

"Yes. Before we forgot to talk and owl and visit each other," Ginny said. "Before we run on, without each other."

There was a long pause before Hermione spoke. "You know...I think this house needs a really good party."

"A cocktail party?"

Hermione smiled. "I was thinking something a bit bigger."

"Lots of people," Ginny smiled. "Everybody we know, and more. A really big bash."

"Yes. Just give me a reason, and we'll send out the invites." Hermione paused. "Everyone from my year at Hogwarts, and yours if you want."

"How would we get hold of them, though?"

They looked at each other.

* * *

_LIVE LIKE A MUGGLE DAY!_

_Celebrate with Hermione, Ron and Harry at: 19 Barrow Lane, Brightwater  
_

_25th August, 7:00pm onwards_

_Friends and partners welcome._

_BYO!_

"Awesome, a piss-up!" Blaise exclaimed, holding the invite reverently.

"Yes," Ginny said. She and Hermione had made the invitations as vague as possible, and had deliberately omitted 'invite only' from it.

"Friends welcome, hey? Awesome," Blaise said. "Cheers. I'll definitely be there!"

"Excellent," Ginny said, and she meant it.

Blaise left, grinning. Ginny and Hermione had made a show of casually wandering into the Tipsy Hippogriff on a random weeknight and coincidentally stumbling across Blaise. Ron was with them, and was completely confused.

"You gave an invitation to Blaise!"

"Yes."

"With 'friends welcome'? Are you completely mad?"

"Yes," Ginny said. "We are. Now let's owl the rest out."

Hermione grinned at him.

* * *

They kicked off early. Ginny arrived at their house at five o'clock, to prepare it.

"You're late," Hermione teased. "I thought you said you were coming at four?"

"I know, but cleaning my apartment took longer than I thought."

"You were cleaning your apartment? I thought it was our place that needed cleaning," Hermione laughed. They weren't really cleaning the house, but they were placing anti-theft spells everywhere, and moving everything that was of value and would probably be broken; they placed it all into a cupboard and locked it against curious drunks.

They left the guest bedrooms open, although they put spells on Hermione, Ron and Harry's bedrooms. The spells would ensure the doors would only open if given the correct password, much like the Gryffindor portrait. Thus, they could choose who to let in their rooms.

"Ron's password is Chudley Cannons, Harry's is Butterscotch, mine is Crookshanks," Hermione told Ginny. "So if you need to escape for a bit of peace and calm, just go into one of them."

"Alright," Ginny said, smiling. Summer was coming back again. Ginny could feel it.

* * *

Four hours later, the house had at least a hundred people in it. They were dancing in the lounge, drinking in the kitchen, falling over ornamental sundials in the garden. And by one o'clock in the morning, things were still going strong: four burlesque and unwelcome men had tried to enter the house, only to be seized by such a number of spells that they were left in puddles on the lawn.

"I think they were Muggles, the poor things," Hermione said. "I think it's a boneless spell that made them all puddly like that." She sent about restoring their skeletons and obliviating them; they went confusedly on their way, much to the entertainment of everyone.

"Good thing the police just left," shouted George on his way past.

"Were the police here?" Harry frowned.

"Three times."

"Where was I?" Harry asked confusedly.

"Under the pool table. More rum!" – Blaise's contribution as he stumbled past and got into a fight with a rosebush. The rosebush won.

Ginny was feeling more alive with every moment. This is what she wanted, this jumbled chaotic mess, with her at the heart of it, not caring and not thinking, just letting the current tug her along.

But by three in the morning, things were beginning to calm down. People had gone home, others had set up temporary beds in the lounge room, a happy mess of sleeping bags and people. Others wandered the streets, playing in the secret darkness of the playground, made strange and fantastical by night. Ginny and Harry jumped onto the swings and raced each other to the stars, laughing and half-falling off them. They leaped off, chased each other to the reserve as a train came through. The signal bell was ringing, the little red light blinking in the darkness.

And they ran on, stumbling through the long grass to the train. Its dull whistle blared through the morning mist, and they stopped a mere metre away as it rushed past. Grass train stars, it's all Ginny could see, Harry standing still beside her, his hair whipping back as the last carriage bumped over the rails and watching the red blinking light fade into darkness. They could see clear across the river now, the tiny city lights across the bay reflecting in the water. They smiled at it, smiling at nothing, as the train murmured into the distance. They walked back, slowly, and Ginny stumbled slightly in the long grass. Harry held out an arm to steady her.

"Alright?"

She nodded and wandered through the twisted, tiny path, until they reached the main road again. The tar stretched into darkness, devoid of any cars. As though it had been emptied just for her, for her to walk down. A couple of boys - Theo and Blaise - melted from the shadows and straddled the white line in the middle of the road, swaggered down it like they owned the whole town, the whole beautiful country. Ginny walked on the footpath, past the takeaway shop. The lights were on, she could see the woman behind the counter, rubbing her eyes sleepily and turning the frying pan. They wandered down the street, Blaise making them laugh with exaggerated staggering. A fingersmudge of dawn appeared, a tiny light blue mark over the mountains. Ginny paused at the bus stop.

"Let's catch a bus."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere."

"We'll be waiting a while."

"Got all the time in the world."

But that was not true. The tiny blue mark lightened just a bit, and Ginny wanted it to go away, so she could stay in this strange suspended time forever.

"There's one at 6:14. First one of the day."

"Half an hour."

They wandered home. Ginny pushed open the gate and the front door, gently. Everyone else was sleeping, a deep dreaming sleep, the kind only the drunk and babies can manage. They sat around the table. Harry was lounging in the kitchen, against the counter, eyes casually running over the pantry in search of food. Theo fetched his jacket, his socks. There was a brief but desperate battle over a pair of unclaimed socks between him and Blaise and Theo won, pulling them on triumphantly.

"What are you doing?" Lavender asked, emerging sleepily from the guest bedroom.

"Leaving, the Muggle way!" Blaise was insanely cheerful.

"What, now?"

"Yeah, there's a 6:14 to town."

"Who the hell catches a bus at 6:14 in the morning?"

"We do." Blaise was laughing like a hyena and Lavender threw a paper cup at him.

Ginny watched them leave, watched them all gradually trickle away. Morning melted into afternoon, afternoon into evening. She was the last guest to leave, bidding farewell to Ron.

"Goodnight," Ron called softly, as if afraid to break the night with noise, and she mouthed the same word soundlessly as she stepped into the fire and floo'd away, arriving in her kitchenette. She stared out the window once more, at the beautiful stars and the broad river, a lone figure walking along the shoaly banks as always, under the lovely pale moon. Her bed was empty, cold, the covers sealed over it, cold and unused. She had been too busy running under the stars, too busy to sleep and dream, racing through the long, dewy grass alongside the train...

She shook away the memory like a dream. Nobody said goodbye. She was just another face in their lives, yet she was not resentful. And here she was, them all gone, still partying, still trying to keep it going, and she loved them for their youth and vibrancy, even now as she lay her weary head onto soft pillows.

But when she slept, she dreamed of stars and the dark, dangerous mystery of the night, and she was running, running, racing down the green hill, more alive than she had ever been, and as she disappeared into the sunlight she thought she heard a voice crying her name, long and lonely, a sad echo.

But she was gone.

* * *

Molly Weasley was chopping potatoes, getting ready to make a stew for tonight's dinner. Arthur sat at the large, battered kitchen table by himself, eating toast. It was so quiet; the empty bedrooms upstairs, swept clean, the quidditch shed with dusty brooms lying forgotten, never to be used again. Molly had trouble getting used to her silent mornings.

"Arthur, dear?"

"Yes?"

"Do tellee-phones sometimes break?"

"Sorry, dear?"

"Tellee-phones," Molly said patiently. "Do they break, sometimes?"

"Yes, I would imagine so," Arthur said, bewildered. "Quite a lot of Muggle contraptions break down, really..."

"Well, it's half-seven, and Ginny hasn't called," Molly said, sliding the potatoes into the bubbling pot over the fire.

"Oh, I'm sure she's just –"

"She always calls, precisely at seven-thirty." Molly began steadily chopping carrots now.

Arthur looked at her calm face, her steady hands.

"We'll just pop in and see if she's alright, then," he sighed, folding up his newspaper. "She said something to me last week about having a dreadful cold. After work, I'll –"

"Now."

"Right now, dear?"

"Yes."

There was no use arguing with his wife, not when she was in one of these moods. He got up and placed his plate on the sink.

"Riverside Apartments, that's the place, isn't it?"

"Yes. 4B," Molly said.

They apparated.

Ginny's door was unlocked. Arthur knocked twice, then turned the handle gently, surprised when the door clicked gently open.

"Ginny, dear?" Molly called out. "Ginny?"

They looked at each other, two parents, with parent's instinct. Molly walked slowly towards the bedroom, its door open, morning sun streaming across Ginny as she lay in bed. The sun lit up her richly red hair, illuminated her clear skin with its freckles like tiny stars. Her eyes were half open, gazing out through the open curtains, out at the gloriously blue sky.

Molly's mouth opened and a strange, dark keening noise came out, from the very back of her throat, the very darkness of her heart, welling up until she wailed Ginny's name, a strange and empty word, a lonely echo.


	12. Chapter 11

After the funeral, Harry went back to Ginny's apartment. Molly and Arthur had asked him to; somebody would have to clean it, to remove all traces of Ginny, down to the last dog-eared book, the last item of clothing, and turn the keys over to the landlord. And they could not bring themselves to do it.

Ron wanted to come with him and they asked Pansy to come along too. Ginny's death had been classified as inconclusive and they hoped that as a Healer, she would be able to spot something, anything, that would give them a reason, an explanation.

They climbed the stairs to her apartment with heavy hearts. The first thing Harry did was lean down to gently fix the lock, certain that Molly and Arthur would have had to use an Alohomora spell to get in.

"Mum says the door was unlocked," Ron mumbled. His voice was hoarse but his eyes were dry and they went in, uncertain as to what would await them.

Ginny's apartment was small. The door opened up into a small lounge area that was separated from a kitchenette, by a low counter. A door on the left of the lounge opened into a bedroom, which had a small ensuite. Four rooms.

"It's – clean," Ron said. And yes, it was. The lounge had clearly been vacuumed. Not a piece of lint nor crumb of dirt could be found on it. There were two white couches, a small television stand and a television; all apartment property, and all spotless.

They moved onto the kitchen. The counters had all been wiped down, and were bare except for one mug, washed and rinsed and standing, upside-down, by the sink. Ron tugged open cupboard doors to reveal absolutely nothing and Harry dazedly opened the pantry doors, to find it completely empty. Not even a tin of food, a loaf of bread. The fridge was also cleaned out. Even the freezer was devoid of anything, its ice trays empty.

"This – this isn't right," Ron said, beginning to get angry. "Somebody must've been here. The landlord, I bet you! Came in and cleaned it all up!"

Harry did not reply and they entered the bedroom next. The wardrobe was empty, the hangers all pushed neatly into one corner. The bedside table was gone - they could see the imprints in the rug where it had been. Harry presumed it was because it was Ginny's bedside table, not the apartment's. The brass hooks on the back of the door were empty, devoid of any clothing. There was a rectangular outline on the wall, where something had been removed. The bed, however, was rumpled. The only thing that had not been cleaned. Pansy emerged from the bathroom; Harry and Ron turned to her.

"Nothing," she said. "Not even a toothbrush."

They went back into the kitchen. Ron wanted to find the landlord, certain he had entered the apartment and cleaned it, too impatient to wait.

"I don't think so," Harry said slowly. "The bed was still rumpled, he would have made it. And the mug, rinsed out on the sink." He gazed out the kitchen window, out across the river – unbeknownst to him, exactly where Ginny had stood a mere week ago, a breeze in her hair, on her face, as she gazed out at the stars. Harry jolted suddenly, certain somehow that Ginny had cleaned this apartment herself.

"What?"

"What is it?"

Two faces looked at him in concern but he shook them off.

"I can smell something sweet," he said, frowning, and looked to his left. There, under the heavy ceramic fruitbowl, with nothing but the apartment keys resting in it. He lifted the fruitbowl gently. 'RIVERSIDE APARTMENTS' was stamped on the underside. And, folded carefully beneath the bowl, was a letter.

He picked it up gently and held it out to Ron, who shook his head. "You read it," he said.

It smelt faintly of coriander. Harry gently unfolded it. He could tell, from the way it unfolded, that it had only been read once, quickly, before being folded up again and being put away. He glanced once at Ron, who nodded wordlessly, then he read it silently.

_22nd September 1999_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for the Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_ James Thickey Ward_

_Healer In Charge: G. Appleby_

_Dear Miss Weasley,_

_I have noted that you have not yet made a follow-up appointment. At this stage, it is vital that you continue with therapy. I strongly recommend that you attend our acclaimed counselling sessions, designed especially to assist in cases such as yours. We have both group counselling and one-on-one therapy available; our staff members are professional and experienced in these matters._

_I urge you to owl us today for an appointment. If you have any further inquiries, please do not hesitate to contact me, either during work or after hours._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Healer P. Parkinson,_

_Specialist in Irreversible Spell Damage_

Harry turned and stared.

"Pansy?"

She said nothing. Her face was deathly white, her hand over her mouth as though she had said something terrible.

"What? What's going on?" Ron reached out and took the letter from Harry's unresisting hands and he read it urgently, a desperate man searching for clues. "I don't – I don't understand. Pansy, what's going on?"

With that, Pansy finally dissolved into tears.

* * *

They handed the keys in, took the letter and Pansy to their house. She was in no state for talking, sobbing in bouts, her face blotchy and her eyes red. Ron sat her by the kitchen fire, on the couch. Harry made some tea. She clutched at the cup, sipping at the hot tea gently and calming down as Ron and Harry tried to coax coherent words from her. Finally, hiccupping, she was able to speak.

"She was there for something else," Pansy said, fiddling with her cup anxiously, the saucer clattering below it. "She – she came in for knee pain, see, because in the battle somebody hit her with a Crucio spell, in the leg, and for some reason she still got this odd pain in her knee." Pansy looked up at them anxiously. "Common enough, lots of people get that problem." They nodded reassuringly; Pansy went on. "Anyway, I was helping out the healer in charge, running the usual tests, a couple of general check-up spells to see if it wasn't anything else, you know, just in case. Can't overlook anything. Be thorough, that's what my healer always told me." Pansy paused; tears threatened again and Ron and Harry hastily placated her.

"Go on, Pansy."

"Yes, have some more tea."

She obeyed, sipping, and went on. "I – in the general tests," Pansy whispered, "I spotted something dark, just below her knee. It wasn't anything to do with the pain, I worked that much out. We were all really puzzled. My healer put me on the case, he knew I wanted to specialise in spell damage and he thought it might be something from the battle. He said it would be good practice for me, you know. We asked Ginny if she minded and she said no. She said I was a real professional and she didn't feel awkward at all." Pansy paused to rub at an eye roughly, wiping away tears. "It was spell damage, I was certain. I asked about the battle, if she could remember what spells she had been hit by. She said she couldn't really remember, except when she was duelling with – with – the minister –"

Ron twitched, upsetting his cup, the tea going everywhere. Pansy jumped away but he managed a shaky smile. "Go on, it's alright."

" – when, when they were duelling," Pansy said, looking uncertainly at Ron, " – when they were duelling, she felt too lucky."

"Too lucky?" echoed Harry.

"Yes, she said she was barely missing the curses being shot at her. And one time, she was absolutely certain one _did_ hit her, except nothing happened, so she just kept duelling and put it down to luck." Pansy tried to steady her shaking hand. "I did so much research...every time I saw her, it seemed to move up a little, you know, so within a month it was above her knee...it was so gradual, but I realised, eventually, that it was heading for her heart," Pansy whispered. "And I realised it was the Tarda Nox Cadens Curse."

Harry stared in horror. Ron just looked at them. "What's that?"

"It's a very rare and strange spell," Pansy said, "because it has to be passed on."

"I'm not following," Ron frowned.

Pansy spoke. "We think it first cropped up in the fifteenth century, with Wilbert the Wronged, and he passed it onto a goblin rebel by the name of Gogul, who passed it on to one of his cousins. It disappeared for a while after that, but rumours were that Grindelwald himself actually once had it –" Pansy broke off at Ron's expression. "I'm sorry, I digress. It's a spell that slowly kills you, see, over the course of eighteen to thirty-six months. It's very hard to detect, because it's painless, there's no external physical symptoms, and you don't even feel the spell hit you. It just makes its way to your heart slowly, until one day it just wraps itself around the heart and engulfs it, a very quick and painless death. So unless you suspect you have it, or find out by some strange circumstance –"

"Like you did," Ron observed; Pansy just bowed her head.

"Yes, like I did. In any case, the only way you can get rid of it is to pass it on to someone else before your time is up."

"Nine months," Harry said. "That letter to Ginny was dated nine months ago. Is that how long she had?"

"No, the shadow was present long before that – it would have begun the day that the minister passed the spell on. With three years maximum for the spell, it meant that Ginny would die before this summer ended."

"And she knew that?"

"Yes."

"But she didn't tell anyone!"

"I know," Pansy said. "I know."

"And nor did you!"

"I – I had to be professional."

Harry suddenly realised all the times Pansy put her head on her arms and cried, it wasn't for her dead cousin. It was for dying Ginny, and a secret Pansy could never tell.

"She never called," Pansy murmured. "She never owled me."

"Oh, Pansy," he said, his heart aching.

She wept silently.

* * *

_A/N: Tarda Nox Cadens translates as 'Slow Night Falling_'.


	13. Epilogue

And one year later, Hermione lay in the garden, by the hydrangeas, reading her book. White roses bloomed over the trellises nearby; Ron was lazily cleaning the barbecue, in preparation for the annual Live Like A Muggle Day celebrations. Harry was out of the house, out of the garden. Originally sent on an errand to pick up some milk from the corner shop, he now wandered to the playground by himself. He spun himself round in the whirligig, he sat on the swings and remembered racing Ginny to the heavens, shouting across to each other, words spilling from their lips like stars.

"Faster!"

"You can go higher than that!"

"Yeah, on a _broom_!"

"Did you hear about Blaise? He's bought a ticket to Australia!"

Ginny had laughed, loud and bursting with astounded happiness. "Australia!"

"Yes, he passed his brick test!" Harry had shouted across, grinning. They eventually slowed, lulling to an almost-stop, the swings rocking ever so slightly. Ginny had looked across at him, her eyes bright and clear.

"I think I've passed mine, too," she said, but before he could ask what she meant, she had leapt away and taken off around the cricket pitch, laughing, and he had forgotten.

He knew now. She didn't want to be anybody's burden, she did not want to drown them with her, drag them into darkness.

He lifted his face to the sky and kicked back, letting himself fly into the air, the chains on the swing creaking up a chorus. The sky was glorious, a wonderful, beautiful blue, the shade that he thought eternity would look like, if eternity could be a colour. Harry imagined that's where Ginny was, where she could have her everlasting summer, smiling as everything faded, drifting into the golden blue she was forever chasing.

And with her, the curse had stopped. She had broken it on her body, falling away from the darkness, letting the shadows take her where they would.

He flew towards the cloudless blue, overcome not with sadness but with love.


End file.
